


They Used to Shout My Name

by BeesKnees



Category: Hunger Games - Fandom, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hunger Games, Manipulation, Psychological Torture, Rebellion, Torture, Victors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Expendable,” Johanna hisses into Finnick's ear before they separate at the tree with the promise of seeing each other again at midnight.</p><p>In which, after the Quarter Quell, Finnick is taken to the Capitol in place of Annie and Peeta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Plutarch Heavensbee is many things. Stupid is not one of them. He wouldn't be willing to start a revolution unless he had a powerful backing, an alignment with a side that has a decent shot at winning – with the right spin of course.

District 13 is an untapped powerhouse, a simmering keg just waiting for the right spark. 

But whatever District 13 is, President Alma Coin is not pleased with him at the moment; their few communications are sparse, the president adept at conveying much in very little. 

“I fail to see how this Quell is going to aid our case,” Coin says, blunt. “Especially if your promised mockingjay is dead.”

“He--” They never use Snow's name, not ever. “--is intent on getting rid of the victors because of how powerful they are. They're not human in Panem; they're legend. They've become hope. If he's afraid of that, we need to use it our advantage. They're lightning rods right now, and we're putting them back on camera. A chance for them to woo the Capitol and the districts.”

The line buzzes with static, proof that Coin is still unconvinced.

“Madam president, no war is without its risks--”

“Please do not lecture me on the risks of warfare,” Coin answers curtly.

“--but this has the chance to tune the entire nation into the issues with the games and, by extension, his government. This is him, breaking another promise not only to the victors, but to the nation. And then, their legends overthrowing that yoke of broken promises.”

Another long silence. Plutarch waits.

“You'll need help getting Everdeen and Mellark out.”

Down to business at last. Time to examine their own pool of tributes and decide which will be their victors.

“Yes.”

“Who will come from Eleven?”

“Chaff and Seeder,” Plutarch responds. In front of him is a wide screen of all of the victors they could pick from. Eleven is just about as depleted as Twelve, but as, choices go, Chaff and Seeder are both good candidates. 

“I want Beetee and Wiress,” Coin issues, a command that comes as no surprise, especially with how much of the technology in the Capitol they have invented, but they will be hard-pressed to fight their way out of the arena on their own. They need fighters, people who would be likely to win this Quell if they had been sent in on their own. One and Two are discredited, of course. Career districts are difficult to trust – well, for the most part.

“Odair,” Plutarch says abruptly, pulling Finnick's profile forward. His digital profile is larger than almost another victor's, a 10-year track record spent primarily in the Capitol.

“Finnick Odair?” Alma says flatly, employing the same tone she opened the conversation with. “The partyboy Career?”

“He betrayed his Career pack,” Plutarch tacks on immediately. “He's 24, in top physical condition, knows more about the Capitol than any other victor, and the female tribute will either be Mags or Annie Cresta. Mags mentored him. He's in love with Cresta. We _can_ control him – and he's close with Johanna Mason, who will be reaped from Seven.”

“Mason and Odair,” Coin echoes, and he can hear that she's still not sure.

“We get to Odair through his partner. We get to Mason through Odair,” Plutarch promises. “They'll be the ones fighting their way through the arena. We get them axes and tridents in the cornucopia and they'll pave the way for the rest.”

“All right,” Coin agrees. “But for as long as they're not liabilities.”

…

He gets the three of them in one room after the parade. Plutarch has met both Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason in passing before – both of them staples in victor lore. They're both incredibly well-known as victors for entirely different reasons. Odair is the epitome of what the Capitol loves in its victor: he killed and bled for it, was a surprise victor, and is entirely charming, willing to pander to the Capitol's every want and need. Mason, on the other hand, is divisive: the Capitol loves and hates her in equal measure. She was a shocking surprise, a twist ending, who both bled and killed for her victory, but she conned the Capitol to do it. And now she won't play the part she's supposed to. Her time in the Capitol is sporadic, and she never smiles on command.

Neither she nor Finnick sits now. Johanna paces, her appearance a collision of parts: she still has on the heavy make-up from the parade, but there's a tight set to her mouth, to her shoulders, and she wears a tribute jumpsuit that looks shockingly out of place on her. Finnick just stands, arms crossed in front of him; underneath his make-up, he looks oddly tired. 

He has everyone else in place. They are the two last two pieces of the puzzle. 

“I want to give you the chance to make these games mean something,” he starts off and Johanna scoffs immediately, rolling her eyes up toward the ceiling. They know the whims of power-hungry gamemakers better than most.

“I want them to be the last games.” 

Finnick frowns openly – an expression Plutarch has never seen on him. Finnick catches himself.

“I think it's best if we're all excused,” Finnick says, smiling and oozing charm, becoming the caricature of himself. He thinks this is a trap and is looking for the artful way to escape it.

He has to explain everything, put all the facts out there, to stand a chance at convincing either of them, so he does.

“No, thanks,” Finnick says again when Plutarch is finished, cutting through whatever response Johanna has.

“All you need to do,” Plutarch says, “Is help get Katniss and Peeta out, and we will get you out as well. You will have complete immunity in Thirteen.”

Johanna laughs again, a shrill sound that Plutarch can't decipher. While he knows he doesn't need to worry about either of them revealing the plan to Snow, he'd much rather have them both on his side. He is just about to start worrying about his chances of success when Mags reaches out and pats Finnick's wrist. Finnick looks over at her, his jaw still tight.

“I want Annie Cresta out,” Finnick says finally, the words pried from him.

“Done,” Plutarch promises. 

Johanna's eyes shoot to where Plutarch holds out a hand that Finnick takes to shake.

…

“Expendable,” Johanna hisses into Finnick's ear before they separate at the tree with the promise of seeing each other again at midnight.

…

“We've secured Latier and Everdeen,” one of the pilots reports to Plutarch. “Capitol hovercrafts have lifted off. We've only got enough time to retrieve one more.”

Plutarch's eyes scan the map. Mason, Odair, and Mellark are all still alive, Odair feet away from where Everdeen had fallen. Mellark is not close, but his signal is holding steady. 

“Get Mellark,” he gives the order, turns away from the screen, and heads back into the holding area. He almost runs into Haymitch.

“We're right above the kid,” Haymitch argues, pointing at Finnick's unmoving spot.

“We only have enough time to get one,” Plutarch responds practically. “Peeta is more important to Katniss, and we need her.”

…

“We've secured Mason and Odair.”

Finnick hears the crackling response of an answer over a radio, but he doesn't try to open his eyes just yet. His body is wracked with pain, and he's not sure if he can move anyway. 

“Get off of me, you _fucking fucks_ \--” And there's Johanna, spitting and raw, causing a clamor from the sound of it. She screams, an agonizing sound as she tries to pull away from whoever is holding her. Someone – not her – makes a pained noise indicating that one of her blows has found its mark.  
“Everdeen and Mellark are MIA,” the voice continues. “Odair is still unconscious, burned, but his heart is holding steady. Mason is--”

Johanna screams again and Finnick struggles to blink his eyes open. They aren't with Plutarch. They aren't with the rebels from District 13. They are--

“You need to rest,” someone above him says. He can feel something hit his bloodstream, bubbling cold in his arm. 

They are heading back to the Capitol.

…

Finnick wakes up in the hospital area of the training center, where they always take the victors after they win. He has been here twice before – once after his own games, choking on blood still, as they patched up a hole that skittered between his ribs, and the second after Annie won, racing down the hall to hold her as she screamed, resistant to any of the doctors touching her.

He is hooked up to a thousand machines, dripping fluid into him and measuring his heart beat, but nothing has been done about the burns that run red up his arms from where the lightning hit him sideways, a blast that threw him into the air. He's secured against the bed as well, restraints that appear as if they're to keep him from hurting himself. They're to keep him from escaping.

He sits up as far as he can. In the bed next to him is Johanna, also restrained and, by his own guess, heavily sedated. 

Panic blares through his system, a heady warning call that has helped him survive for all of these years; it's told him when his back is unguarded and when he needs to run; it's told him when he needs to be subservient and obedient and when the time has come to fight. Now, it threatens to overwhelm him entirely. He slows his breathing, struggles to calm his mind. He focuses on the feeling of the restraints around his wrists and begins to move his right hand. First step is first: get free.

“Even you won't be able to slip those, Mr. Odair.”

Finnick's eyes shoot open. He should have known that it was too quiet in here. He should have been suspicious. President Snow sits calmly in a chair at the far end of the room, hands crossed in front of him, white rose in his lapel. Finnick smells the perfume; it hits him like a wave and he fights down the urge to gag.

“President Snow,” Finnick says. (That gut instinctive tells him to be deferential and respectful now. His head tells him that it doesn't matter though. He's fucked.)

“You know,” President Snow begins, faux conversationally in the way he does when he's pretending to be your friend – before he calmly reminds you that he has all the cards, he has all the power. “I have always been very fond of you. I've always thought you were much smarter than many of the other victors.” 

Of course, Finnick thinks savagely. Of course he would think that; Finnick has only provided the entire budget for the government to run off of for the last 10 years. He's never put up a fight in the way most of the other victors do. He's never needed any lessons. His self-destructive habits are contained.

“Do you know how dismaying it was to learn that you had conspired with radicals?” Snow continues. To Finnick's side, Johanna begins to stir, fighting against the wave of drugs keeping her pliant. Finnick doesn't dare take his eyes off of Snow to look and see if she's all right.

“After all those years of keeping Miss Cresta safe, it's astonishing that you've done something so foolish.”

The mention of Annie's name lights something inside of him. Fear tears at his insides stronger than anything he had felt in the arena, including his agonizing hour with the jabberjays.

“Where is she?” Finnick yells, jerking forward against the restrains that hold him with all of his strength. The bed bucks underneath him, but Finnick can't pull free. Adrenaline courses through him and he pulls against the bonds again and again, a fruitless feat that he can't help.

“She's downstairs,” Snow answers calmly.

“Let me see her,” Finnick bites off.

“Tell me what you know about the rebels and District Thirteen and I will arrange a meeting,” Snow answers calmly.

“He's lying,” Johanna says thickly from where she's still pinned against the bed. Her words are slurred, but still laced with acid. 

“Ah, Miss Mason,” Snow acknowledges her.

“If he had her, she'd be here with us,” Johanna spits. “He'd dangle her in front of you.”

Her words are an anchoring point; she's right. Snow uses his arsenal deftly, yes, but he knows how effective of a tool Annie is against him. If Annie was here, she'd be sitting right next to Finnick while Snow talked to them. Annie is either in District Four – unlikely, unless she has hidden herself really well, or else Snow would have snatched her already – or Plutarch kept at least one of his promises and Annie is on her way to Thirteen with the other stolen victors. Finnick attempts to swallow down his fear and regain his calm.

Snow smiles. 

It's probably the closest he'll get to conceding the point to Johanna. However, several other people enter the room then, most of them dressed like doctors, and Finnick can't tell if they actually are or not. They uncuff Johanna from her bed and get her up. Her legs don't seem to want to support her, but she's clawing again, fighting, because that is what Johanna does.

“Get the fuck off of me,” she snaps, and catches one of the doctors hard with her nearly non-existent nails, leaving long gashes. She's weak though, drugged and exhausted, and they wrench her arms back her back, force march her into the into the middle of the room. She starts screaming without any words, throwing herself back and forth.

“Jo!” Finnick shouts, pulling against the bindings again. The burns on his arms flare; belatedly, he realizes that not only has he not been healed, he hasn't been given any pain medication either. That should have been a warning. The Capitol loves to drug its victors.

If Johanna hears him, she doesn't acknowledge it. Snow is unmoving next to Finnick. A wide tub is brought into the center of the room, and then Johanna, still shouting, is dunked down into the frigid water. Finnick can see the ice floating on the top. She thrashes against her captives still, her actions wild and unrefined.

“You're going to kill her,” Finnick snaps at Snow.

“Tell me about District Thirteen,” Snow answers indifferently.

Johanna is brought up, gasping, water streaming from her face. Her knees buckle underneath her. Through her sopping hair, she stares at Finnick, expression convoluted with anger. As if he's the one doing this to her. 

_Weak_ , Finnick can hear her say. _You're always so damn weak._

Finnick breathes in and settles in against the bed. His hands are still clenched, but he keeps quiet now, stares as Johanna goes back under. They hold her under longer, and Finnick can only pray they don't kill her in front of him. The only comfort is that he knows she would rather die at their hands than for him to share secrets in order to save her.

…

They aren't kept in the hospital for long.

Down, down, down into the tribute center. Who knew there was a basement? 

…

Johanna screams herself hoarse next to him. They never try to ask her any questions. They are always left to him, because they think they'll break him before they break her. (They have to be right on that score.)

Finnick sits in his cell and clamps his hands over his ears. (Johanna gasps. Water splashes, and she's back under. No silence even then. The metal of the tub scraping across the floor. Back up, and she sputters for breath. Three days later: Add in the crackle of electricity. Johanna's screams get louder at first and then fade away, throat too raw for her to scream.)

“I'll make you a deal,” Snow says.

(This is what I get for making deals with presidents and gamemakers, Finnick thinks dully.)

“Immunity for Miss Cresta,” Snow says, “If you tell me about District Thirteen.”

Finnick shakes his head no. He doesn't trust his voice. 

The next day the room next to him is silent. _Jo_ , Finnick thinks. _Jo, Jo, Jo_. He pounds against the walls with his hands, the pain radiating through the burns that have scarcely healed.

A weak pound returns. Finnick bows against his head against the wall and cries. Cries for the first time since before his own games, because he doesn't know what to do other than to hold out. And he doesn't know if he can do that. The even more sour truth is that he knows, even if he gave in, he doesn't have any information that would be valuable to Snow. Plutarch kept them in the dark about almost everything. (For this reason, Finnick now knows.)

“Expendable.” He can't tell if Johanna whispers it through the wall or if it's all in his head now.

He sleeps, just for a small clutch of time, his hand pressed against where he imagines Johanna would be.

He wakes up to more screaming. But it isn't Johanna this time. A small bird sits across from him, mouth open. It hops toward him, Annie's piercing screams emanating from its throat. 

Finnick goes numb all over. He fumbles, reaching blindly for the bird, wringing its neck so that Annie's voice cuts off in the middle of his name.

“Finnick,” Johanna says, her voice barely above a sharp whisper from the next room. “Finnick, don't--”

A cloud of birds comes in through the ceiling, all of them in Annie's voice, all of them screaming, screaming, screaming his name. Finnick is down on his knees, hands over his ears, but he can't block them out. One of the birds lands on his shoulder, clever little beak right in between his fingers. 

It goes on longer than an hour – has to. Finnick claws the sides of his side face bloody and raw – and then starts in on his wrists, trying fruitlessly to get the blood to come. It dribbles out weakly, and he knows he should know better. There is one one rule that victors abide by: they survive.

The birds leave and the doctors come in again, and this time they're restraining him, getting bandages around his raw wrists. Finnick's head rings with the noise of Annie's screaming. 

“Get off me!” Finnick shouts, echoing Johanna. He gets one of their so-called caretakers up against the wall, his arm pressed against the woman's throat and he starts to choke the life out of her. Somebody hits him hard against the back of the head, and his entire world is blurred, blackening around the edges. He hasn't had food since he came out of the arena and the only water he gets is when they sedate him, hook him back up to the IV – enough to keep him alive, but weak.

When he wakes up this time, he is in a straitjacket, his arms pulled around his own torso. His scratches itch, his burns itch. He is disorientated, unable to focus, and his mouth tastes of cotton. Snow is back.

 _Annie is safe. Annie is safe. Annie is safe_. Finnick thinks over and over again, looping the words together like rope. He can endure any of this because Annie is safe. (Is she safe? He is haunted. He doesn't know what's happening outside of the basement of the tribute center. He doesn't know if the war is happening. He doesn't know if Snow is winning or losing. Has to be losing, Finnick thinks fervently, feverishly. Or else he and Johanna wouldn't matter so much.)

“Tell me anything about Thirteen and I'll graciously give you and Miss Mason a day to rest,” Snow says calmly. He's smiling, red at the corners of his mouth, because, at the very least, he thinks he's winning down here. “Some food, perhaps? We could have some shellfish brought in from Four. Although I do hear your family is having a difficult time with their business this year, did you know? Not near making quota. What do you think should be done about that, Finnick?”

His family. Too big of a family for a victor. Wasn't that what everyone had always said about him? Blank stares from all the victors when he said how many cousins and aunts and uncles he had – and three sisters, two younger, one older. Oh, poor Finnick Odair.

Finnick weeps openly at the reminder of them, can't hide the reaction from Snow, who just stands stalwart in front of him. He thrashes against the straitjacket, wrenches his shoulder out of place, and then is forced to lie in pain for the rest of the night until someone comes to jerk it back into place for him.

…

When he comes to again, everything has a hazy quality. His stylist is kneeling in front of him, and he thinks he might finally be hallucinating. He's ready to give into that entirely. Anything, if it means not being here anymore.

“Finnick,” Melia says gently, turning his head to the side. She looks paler than normal too, and he wonders what they've done to her. They've been together for eight years – the stylist assigned to him as soon as he actually began working in the Capitol. The only woman who never wanted to sleep with him, they had always joked. 

“You should just tell him whatever he wants to know,” Melia comments, helping him sit up. “What could be worth going through this?”

He stares at her; is she here as a friend or as another trick by Snow? Far more subtle, if this is a trick, and Finnick knows to fear it more than Johanna's screams, more than jabberjays. 

“Take care of yourself for once, please,” Melia practically whispers to him before she gets up and leaves.

“Something's happening,” Finnick whispers to Johanna through the wall. She doesn't answer. “Jo?”

Silence – until the door to his cell clangs open and strangely, there's Caesar Flickerman, powderblue suit and all, standing in the doorway. That's it, Finnick thinks. I have lost it. He almost laughs, hysterically, just at the sight of Flickerman, because he's such a staple of another life. Finnick can scarcely remember anything from outside of this room, as if it all has been scrubbed out from underneath his skin.

“Finnick Odair,” Caesar says. His voice is remorseful, but he smiles even as he says it. 

Finnick looks up at him, warily. He tries to piece together what new game this is, but Finnick can't think anymore. The games are far beyond him. He's losing, simply dragged along by the momentum of whatever's happened.

“Let's have a talk, shall we, Finnick?” Caesar asks, acting as if this is just another interview, another time where Finnick has come flouncing out onto stage – as a tribute, as a victor, as the partyboy darling as of the Capitol. He's worn a thousand different masks with Caesar.

He's not touching Finnick this time though. Any other time, he does. Finds an excuse to put a hand on Finnick's shoulder, fingers brushing the inside of his knee for too long. Now, he lingers near the door, which is shut again. Finnick stares at it, hard. Strange isn't it, he thinks, that he's never even thought of escaping. Where would he go? (But they might kill him in his attempt. Progress.)

“Finnick, how long have you been here?” Caesar asks, tacking on his name as if he hopes to reclaim Finnick's attention.

“I don't know,” Finnick admits through cracked lips. He's so thirsty, he's not sure if the words are audible at all. 

_What is the point of this?_ He struggles. 

“And Johanna is with you?” Caesar continues.

Finnick looks reflexively at the wall that Johanna is behind. (Is she? She hadn't answered.)

“What have they done to you, Finnick?” Caesar asks – feigned sympathy. (Feigned sympathy before the Quarter Quell too, before turning on a dime to express how _exciting_ it was. Look, we're sending our old _friends_ to die again!)

A forgotten emotion swells inside his chest at the reminder of the Quell: anger. Never his strongest weapon, and even now he wields it messily.

“They've tortured us,” Finnick growls up at Caesar, straining against the straitjacket again. He doesn't know if he's ever heard his voice sound that like; he's been instructed on how to speak, what to say since he turned fourteen. Talk lower, softer, sexier. Breathe everything. Smooth out your accent from Four. Now, he's raw, feverish. Feral.

“What happened in the Quell, Finnick?” Caesar presses. 

( _Get out Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, Plutarch says._ )

“I don't know,” Finnick whispers. The lightning hits the tree, slicing up the wire like fire, and Katniss with the arrow, flying, flying, flying, but Finnick is flying, flying, flying too. Pinned to the ground, and there's the hovercraft. (Safety.) Scooping up Katniss and Beetee, but he's sprawled, on his back, fingers inches away from his trident. And then the hovercraft is leaving and Finnick is unconscious.

“I don't know,” Finnick says again with no prompting. He can't focus. ( _What is the point of this?_ )

“And if you could see Katniss Everdeen again, what would you say to her? Knowing what she's done?”

“I hope she's safe.” Fire to his words again. “I hope she's fighting. I hope she manages to--” His voice breaks off, choked, because he doesn't even know what he wants. 

“And Annie Cresta?” Caesar asks, more quietly. “What would you say to her?”

Finnick can't say anything at all. He lets his head fall forward, the bruise from where he'd been hit on the back of the head singing with pain. He sobs again. He can't say anything to Annie, but then, he doesn't need to. He'd never expected to see her again (and now he won't, his mind supplies in a hiss). He'd said his good-byes back on the sands of Four.

He blinks and Flickerman is gone.

…

Finnick is alone. He doesn't know how long it has been since the Quell. He doesn't know how long it has been since his interview with Flickerman. He lies on the floor and stares at the wall that Johanna should be behind. He hasn't heard her since the interview. 

The door creaks open and Finnick doesn't budge. He waits for the inevitable haul of someone pulling him upward, sticking the needle back in him to keep him alive.

Instead, a heavy weight lands next to him.

“Johanna,” he whispers, staring at where she has landed on the ground, a loose sprawl of stick-thin limbs. Her hair is gone, shaved down against her scalp, so that it looks raw. Dark circles line her eyes, and her lips are bloodied and cracked, just like his. 

“You look like shit,” she tells him hoarsely, and they both laugh, a hysterical pitch of sound that is more frightening than comforting. He balances himself against the wall, sitting there, and she drags herself to be next to him. She isn't wearing a straitjacket, but her nails are gone, peeled away from the beds.

“What now?” he asks.

“Don't ask,” she says sharply. It shuts him up, because he knows that wondering what will happen next is only going to make it worse.

Silence, and then Johanna speaks again.

“If we don't die, I will fucking lie that I ever said this to you,” she starts, sounding angry. “I heard you coming back for me – before the lightning.” She pauses. “Thank you.”

Finnick's throat goes tight. She's saying her good-byes.

The door opens again, and Snow appears in the doorway, looking down at the two of them. The muted sensation in his gut blares with warning, but he's too tired to care anymore.

“I would like to thank you both for your service to your country,” Snow says easily, employing his self-assured tone.

“We don't know anything about Thirteen, you fuck,” Johanna grits out.

“I believe you, Miss Mason,” Snow answers easily. 

(We're getting to the end, Finnick thinks. They might have just become expendable here too.)

“I have something for you,” Snow says. He places a screen broadcaster on the floor, and the light of it eats up an entire wall. On the screen, Caesar Flickerman sits soberly in his chair, fingers steepled together.

“Good evening to all of Panem,” Caesar begins. “Wherever you are this evening, I hope you are safe with your loved ones. As many of you know, our own loved ones, several of our own victors, were snatched away during the Quarter Quell. These radicals have proudly claimed Katniss Everdeen as their own symbol, sickeningly twisting the message of her love story. But new footage coming out of their base camp reveals that, victors who are not complying with these _radical's_ wishes may be paying a steep price.” 

Caesar's faces turns more concerned.

“Please be advised, this footage is quite graphic.”

Johanna laughs again, high and hysterical. Graphic – from the man who commented on the Hunger Games.

But all of Finnick's blood has gone cold. The screen in front of them flips away from Caesar's face and to a blurred one of Johanna. The camera quality is bad, a quick shake of the lens; the footage leaves no doubt that it's Johanna Mason being tortured, but nobody with her is clearly visible. The cells they've been kept in could be anywhere.

The screen flips away from Johanna and to Finnick, contained on the floor, back bowed by the straitjacket. He's shocked to see that he looks just as bad as Johanna; his weight loss has been just as quick, his face hollowed, all of its gleam gone. 

His words are played back at him, clipped to have all the wrong meanings. Caesar's voice has been replaced with someone else's, generic and menacing.

_“They're torturing us.”_

_“And if you could see Katniss Everdeen again, what would you tell her?”_

_“I hope she's safe. I hope she's fighting.”_

_“And Annie Cresta?”_

And there he is, collapsing in on himself, falling apart – and back to Johanna again, who flails and curses and spits, fighting with everything that's left of her to get free. Then they're gone, back to Caesar.

“If any of this is true, we need to be worried for Katniss Everdeen's safety and what they have done to _force_ her to be their mouthpiece,” Caesar continues seriously. “And in the meantime, we pray for the safe return of our victors, particularly Mr. Odair and Miss Mason, who are obviously and valiantly continuing to fight for us.”

The screen goes off.

Beside him, Johanna can't stop laughing. She's gasping for breaths, her hands tucked around her ribs. 

“I hope you're quite comfortable for the rest of your stay,” Snow says, smug, and then leaves.

“We're fucked,” Johanna says as soon as he's gone. 

They are. They'll be traitors everywhere now. They'll be left to rot down here until they're dead. 

When he doesn't answer, she leans her head against his shoulder and stares blankly at the wall. He leans his head on top of hers and they sleep like that, curled close together, no longer speaking.

…

When Finnick wakes up, he feels strange. Too heavy. Like he's been hit by lightning all over again. He tries to move, but he can't. His limbs are weighed down. Belatedly, his sluggish mind realizes he's been drugged. But why? What does it matter now?

“Jo?” he mumbles. 

He hears some kind of reply; she's been drugged too.

Above him, a fuzzy shape hovers overhead. Finnick tries to focus his gaze, but he can't.

“Chin up, Mr. Odair,” the voice says easily, almost clinically. Gloved fingertips press against his chin, and his head moves against his will. “And mouth open, please.” His mouth is opened as well, and a piece of metal is placed in between his teeth.

He tries to say Johanna's name again, but he can't manage it, not with this hunk of metal in his mouth. Something is wrong, he thinks – a ridiculous sentiment. Something has been wrong for the last few weeks – for the last 10 years. He needs to fight, some dimmed part of his brain tells him. He needs to fight whatever is about to happen to him, but he can't even feel his fingertips. There's another IV in him, keeping him lazy and stupid.

“All right. I need you to keep very still now. Can you do that for me?”

Finnick is being kept so still, he can't answer. Above him, he just makes out the gleam of a surgical blade. It's lowered down into his mouth, and the chill of it, pressed against the flesh of his tongue, startles him enough to put together what's going to happen next. _Avox_. He's said what the Capitol's wanted him to say and he knows too much – has a dirty secret on the president, on everyone in his government, probably on the doctor who is about to cut out his tongue. 

Those secrets have always been his best source of protection, and he's about to lose them all. He shuts his eyes.

Which is why he misses what happens next. He hears a hellish scream and pain slashes through his mouth. He starts bleeding liberally and chokes on it, for an instant, almost missing the sight of Johanna pinned against the doctor's back. Her teeth are buried in his shoulder, and her hands messily grapple for the knife. Her motions are all disoriented, as if she's still having trouble controlling her body. The doctor is shouting, shouting, but Johanna manages to gain enough sway over the blade that she tilts both of them back, and the knife goes into the doctor's chest.

“You fucking--” Johanna is shouting, punching the blade into the man's chest again. Her words are barely there – more expletives and clotted syllables. “Fucking, _fucking fuck_.”

Both of them collapse to the ground, a pained nose tearing its way out of the back of her throat before she can stop it. She climbs onto the doctor, still holding the knife, which is slick with blood, and rams into the doctor's throat over and over. The man shudders beneath her and still Johanna keeps moving, as if she is incapable of stopping.

It is only the sound of Finnick, choking on his own blood, that pulls her away. She scrambles over, on her hands and knees, without letting go of the knife. She pushes him, using the last of her strength, and pounds on his back. He coughs and takes in a shaking breath.

“Let me see--” Johanna says, still talking too fast, prying his mouth open and peering inside. She actually sticks her fingers into his mouth and just grabs onto his tongue, as if that is the easiest way to make sure he was okay.

“Fuck,” Johanna breathes. “The knife just caught the side of your mouth, all right?” 

Finnick tries to nod, but he's still bleeding an awful lot. The drugs, paired with dehydration, lack of food, and the new blood loss, make him dizzy. He slides backward. 

“Finnick,” Johanna says, and she sounds upset for the first time since they arrived here. It's a strange sound from her – one that he's never heard before, but he figures this whole adventure has really been a time of firsts. 

He tries to laugh, but the sound just comes out wet. 

Gas begins to flow through the vents above them, a visible cloud of white that Finnick watches descend around them. Johanna tenses from where she's kneeling above him. Her hand is wrapped so tightly around the knife that her knuckles are white. (Always with the pretending to be weak and then hacking people apart.) Her entire body shudders strangely as she breathes in the gas, and Finnick feels it hit him a second later too. The disorientation from before is nothing compared to how he feels now. The walls seem like they're throbbing around them, bleeding in tandem with the blood flowing into Finnick's mouth. 

Johanna starts shrieking, brushing at her arms as if there's something there – Finnick can't see anything. She's still holding the knife, unwilling to let go of it, and starts slashing herself by accident, long gashes that patter blood onto the floor.

“Jo,” Finnick struggles.

She fixates on him, and then plunges the knife into the side of his chest. It sinks in, mimicking the place where he'd caught a blade during his first games, the most potent injury he'd ever received. A breath punches its way out of him, and he sinks down further. He lets himself bleed out, the room swirling frighteningly around them. Johanna looks like she's sprouting black feathers that she pulls out in entire clumps, screaming high enough that she almost sounds like--

“Annie,” Finnick mumbles and passes out.


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes up to a light so blinding that he decides he's dead. After the Quell, after the Capitol, it's a relief. But the pain begins to eat through the nothingness he's floating in, demanding his attention. He tries to shift, but his side shouts at him, reminding him that he'd been stabbed before he passed out.

“Finnick?” someone says his name, a voice he doesn't know. He wonders if another Capitol doctor has come to finish the job of making him an Avox.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, borrowing Johanna's tactic. His voice is hoarse enough to sound like hers now. His mouth tastes absolutely foul, like blood and chemicals.

“You sure you don't got Johanna in there?” a familiar drawl comes. 

He shoots up, trying to get into a sitting position, but a thousand hands restrain him, pushing him gently back down.

“Slow, slow,” the woman next to him says softly. She has blonde hair that's pulled away from her face in a braid. She looks oddly familiar, but he can't place her. He does as he's told, but looks around anyway, eyes honing on Haymitch. 

“Hey kid,” Haymitch says. He's sober, Finnick realizes. How odd. There's concern on his face – hidden, but there all the same. Guilt, maybe? Finnick doesn't know. He's not used to reading actual expressions on Haymitch Abernathy's face and doesn't find much interest in it now. His gaze slides past Haymitch to the rest of the room. Not Capitol – at least, he doesn't think it's the Capitol. It's unfamiliar, all electric light. No windows. God, what he wouldn't give for some windows right now. He hasn't seen sunlight since before they started for the tree – and that was artificial, too, Finnick knows. So, before that then. His last real sunrise was in the Capitol the morning of the Quarter Quell.

“Jo?” he tries to ask, the word thick. He has stitches in the side of his mouth, he realizes, from where the knife cut him. 

“Maybe we should wait,” the woman says uncertainly. She thinks he can't handle it, Finnick realizes. He fights the urge to laugh.

But Haymitch is looking at him. He sighs, pulls up a chair and slouches down into it.

“We didn't know whether you and her were even alive 'til they stuck that fake video on the airwaves,” Haymitch says. “Katniss made them go and get you then.” The words are purposefully chosen, Finnick knows: Katniss is the one who saved them. Not Plutarch. Not Coin. They'd still be sitting in that cell, stabbing themselves to pieces, fucked on trackerjack venom if it wasn't for their girl on fire.

“Johanna's in the next room,” Haymitch says, nodding toward the wall. Fitting, Finnick thinks. Still sharing a wall. “She's a lot more messed up than you are.”

“But you should still be resting, too,” the woman adds on. “You've got stitches on your side and your mouth.” 

Haymitch keeps looking when she says the bit about his mouth. He knows. He knows why there was a knife in Finnick's mouth and how close he came to losing his ability to speak all together.

“Peeta and Katniss are waiting outside,” Haymitch says, gesturing toward the entrance. “We been taking rounds until one of you woke up.”

“He shouldn't have visitors,” the woman says; her voice is still soft. She's not exactly arguing. Just not agreeing with any of the calls Haymitch is making.

“Annie?” Finnick says, and the word is painful to get, pulling at the side of his mouth and he tastes blood again for a moment.

“She's here,” Haymitch says immediately. “Safe and fine. Didn't tell her we were coming to get you in case.” In case something didn't go right. In case he was dead or beyond saving, and then they didn't have to disappoint her anymore than she would have been. No promises on Finnick Odair's safety.

“I--” Finnick starts to say, but Haymitch holds up a hand.

“I'll go get her,” he says, pulling himself up from the chair. 

As soon as he's walked out the door, Peeta and Katniss enter. Peeta smiles warmly at him, hiding any of his discomfort, but Katniss lingers near the door, unable to hide how Finnick's appearance has hit her.

“I'm going to get a doctor for him,” the blonde woman says quietly to Katniss. “Try to make sure he rests.” Finnick looks between them. Understands the resemblance, finally – and wonders if everyone in his entire family in Four is dead for his transgressions.

Peeta takes the chair that Haymitch had vacated and Katniss comes to stand near the bed, hovering, as if she isn't sure what to do. They both look more worn than when he had last seen them – Katniss, arrow pointed at him, just for a moment, before exploding the sky. She doesn't look at him now though. She feels responsible, he realizes. This is guilt.

“We wanted to come back for you,” Peeta says immediately in that measured way of his that is both calming and optimistic at the same time. He is sweeter than Finnick had been at that age, far less cocky, but he has charm too, and Finnick knows the Capitol would have eaten Peeta Mellark the first chance it got. 

“We know we owe you our lives,” Peeta says. He looks up at Katniss for a moment. “And we know we can't thank you properly yet.” 

Katniss reaches forward slowly and takes his hand, and Finnick finds himself wrapping his fingers around hers, holding on. He's blindingly aware that the old him would have made some clever quip, smiled dazzlingly at the pair of them, but it all seems to take too much effort, so he says nothing instead. 

It doesn't matter, because another figure comes tearing into his room a moment later, interrupting his meeting with Katniss and Peeta.

_Annie_.

“ _Finnick_ ,” she sobs. She's on the bed in seconds, her arms around his neck, and she just clings to him. He instantly feels as if he's drowning in her. He wraps his own arms tightly around her, pulling her as close as he can. She cries against his neck before pulling away, framing his face in between her openly shaking hands. Her cries hitch at the sight of him. 

“What have they done to you?” she asks. 

“I'm fine,” he answers on instinct, needing to reassure her, as always.

“You're not,” she cries. “You're not.” She closes the distance between them and he kisses her, and it feels like breathing. He's finally remembered who he was before he entered the Quell. Remembers what it was that he decided was worth fighting for – worth killing other victors for and then worth deciding to save Katniss and Peeta over. Her. It was and always has been for her – for need of building a better world for her. 

She's crying even as she kisses him back, her tears on his face, and she runs her hands carefully over his face, through his hair, and it doesn't seem like she's ever going to let him go. It's all that Finnick wants out of life now. To never leave her side again.

“Miss Cresta,” says someone behind them, placing a gentle hand on Annie's shoulder. “You probably shouldn't--”

“Leave her,” Katniss says sharply, the first thing she's said she entered the room. 

The doctor backs off immediately. Annie still looks fearfully over her shoulder, as if she's concerned that someone is going to pluck her away from Finnick. The room has filled up during their reunion. Haymitch has returned with the doctor and Katniss' mother, and Plutarch now stands near the doorway, amazingly unabashed for being the man who decided to leave Finnick to die.

Annie settles down next to Finnick, curled up against his good side, clutching his hand. The doctor steps closer then.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he inspects the stab wounds on Finnick's side. (Stitches, Finnick thinks. He'll keep these scars, unlike all of the others.) But the question is so ridiculous that Finnick can't come up with an answer. He can't lie, and he realizes that he doesn't even want to. He maintains his silence, which he know doesn't go unnoticed by the victors in the room – the ones who know him. The ones who know what he should be saying in this moment.

If this doctor is surprised by the lack of an answer, he doesn't comment. He moves from Finnick's side to briefly examine the superficial wounds on his arms – where the tracking device was removed, the burn marks that have messily healed, the scratches he gave himself – and then up to Finnick's mouth.

“This should heal up nicely,” the doctor says. “You're quite lucky, you know.”

“I think we're all lucky there,” Plutarch comments with a smile from the back.

Annie grips Finnick's hand tighter. He stares at Plutarch and then leans down to press a kiss to the top of Annie's head. 

“I'll see what I can do about getting you some painkillers,” the doctor tacks on, beginning to scribble on the paper in front of him.

“No,” Finnick objects immediately. He can't stand the thought of being weighed down by drugs anymore – not after yesterday, not after waking up to find that Capitol doctor hovering him and not after the trackerjack venom being used against them.

“You're going to want it,” the doctor predicts.

“No,” Finnick repeats again more firmly.

“He's a big boy, doc,” Haymitch says, slapping the doctor on the back. “He knows what's in store.” 

In the room next door, Johanna begins screaming. For a moment, Finnick has a powerful wave of vertigo, and he's back in his cell again – splash, and Johanna is under; gasp, and she's up again, cursing. 

Haymitch and Peeta are out the door in a moment.

“Help me up,” Finnick says to Katniss. If she thinks it's a bad idea, she doesn't argue. With Katniss on his one side and Annie on the other, they hobble toward the other room. He's cowed by how weak he feels; it's strange to remember that not so long he carried Mags and then Peeta through the Quarter Quell. Now, he can't walk on his own.

When they reach the next room, chaos greets them. Haymitch is shouting, trying to be heard above everyone else, but two of the military personnel have grabbed Johanna, both of them hulking in comparison to her. A nurse is lying on the floor. One of the men holding Johanna hauls her up bodily, and tries to get her back in the bed. 

“Put her down!” Finnick shouts before he can hold it back. Both men freeze and Johanna goes limp in their grasp. Annie tucks herself more firmly in against Finnick. 

The men do, slowly, grudgingly. Johanna sways when she's finally on her feet. She grips at the bed with her hands, her entire body so tight that it's obvious she's hating every moment of this. Her arms are entirely bandaged, red stains now blotting through the white. Her torso is bandaged as well, a ring reaching up around her neck. Everyone is uncomfortably quiet. Johanna looks worse than he does, and it seems as if Finnick's appearance wasn't enough to prepare them for her.

“You look like shit,” Finnick says on a fleeting instinct, echoing the words she'd said to him. He can feel Katniss look at him, Annie shift against him; they think he's crazy.

Johanna laughs hollowly, but still too high.

“Glad to hear you can still talk.” 

Another joke that, between the two of them, is hilarious – the only thing keeping them sewn together. Everyone else is uncomfortable. (Is this why Johanna does this, Finnick wonders. He's always been intent on pleasing people, on making them feel comfortable. The Capitol merely took advantage of what his natural state had been, but now he wonders if Johanna hadn't had a better tactic to begin with. _They almost made me an Avox, isn't that funny, Jo?_ )

“If you wouldn't mind getting back on the bed, Miss Mason?” the doctor says cautiously, gesturing, but not daring to touch to her. Johanna looks up at him, for the first time, as if assessing what his real thoughts are on where they've arrived. (What are you going to do if you don't like it, Jo, he wonders.) It's not like they fought their way out of the Capitol. They're not going to be able to fight their way out of Thirteen either. 

Johanna pulls herself up onto the bed in achingly slow movements, her hands fisting in the sheets, the blossoms of red on her arms growing brighter. The doctor approaches her, still all slow actions, and Johanna sighs, as if he's being ridiculous. He does his examination without any commentary.

“We're going to be moved into the same room,” Finnick says when the doctor is done.

“Mr. Odair,” the doctor begins. ( _Chin up, Mr. Odair_.)

“Finnick,” he interrupts with a smile that might look garish. The doctor pauses, but doesn't repeat his name.

“These rooms are made to be single occupancy,” the doctor answers.

“That's fine,” Finnick answers, undeterred. “We'll share one.”

Annie squeezes his hand, and he knows that they're really going to be three to one room. The doctor's eyes flit down to Annie and the frown on his face grows deeper.

“Christ,” Johanna breathes out. “Together, the three of us weight about as much as one normal person. We'll fit.”

Finnick swallows down the urge to laugh. Best to appear as sane as possible, he figures. He schools his face into a mask of practiced seriousness.

The doctor sighs, a sign of surrender.

“Do you want any painkillers, Miss Mason?” he asks as if he already knows the answer.

“Did he take any?” Johanna asks, staring down Finnick.

The doctor sighs again and then leaves the room.

Within the hour, they have the beds pressed almost together in Finnick's room. Their crowd of well-wishers starts to dissipate, leaving just him, Annie, and Johanna. Johanna falls to sleep almost immediately, her breathing evening out audibly.

“I love you,” Annie whispers into his ear from where she's curled up against his good side.

“I love you,” he answers immediately. He doesn't think he's been so grateful to say those words to her since the first time he said them, terrified and convinced that he shouldn't have been saying them at all, that he was about to ruin both of their lives. 

“I'm not going to leave you ever again,” he says, looking down at her. She nods at him, kisses him again. He sleeps, unafraid that he's going to die, for the first time in weeks.

…

President Alma Coin has an uncharacteristically weak handshake. That's Finnick's first impression of her. He gets the sense that she's trying purposefully to hold her hand lighter than she would normally. (An act applied by herself, or by Plutarch?) 

He and Johanna are one side of a long table and Plutarch and Coin are on there. Johanna slumps in her chair, looking off to the side, playing with her bandages as if she'd rather be anywhere but in this meeting. They've been in Thirteen for three days and they've both at least recovered the ability to walk on their own; Johanna in particular has been packed up and taken back to their hospital room more times than Finnick can count. They've posted a guard at their door to try and keep her from wandering off. Finnick is more subtle about it. He leans on Annie when they go out, acting as if he can't get far anyway. To be fair, neither of them _can_ get very far.

“It is an absolute honor to meet both of you,” Coin begins. Her voice is soft, lulled, and he wonders if that's an act too. “I am so sorry for what you suffered at the hands of the Capitol, but I am glad that we could play a part in reuniting you with your loved ones and ensuring you make a full recovery. I hope we can also play a part in getting you the vengeance you so clearly deserve.

“Justice,” Plutarch corrects amicably. 

Justice, Finnick thinks blandly. Coin smiles with obvious feigned patience.

“Now,” she says, folding her hands in front of her. “I know that you still have a long road for a full recovery. But have you seen the footage the Capitol aired of you?”

Johanna looks back at Coin, and Finnick sees a muscle jumping in her jaw. She hates being reminded that there's proof of any weaknesses she has exposed. Her entire life after her games has been spent proving that she isn't weak at all. 

“Yes,” Finnick answers for the both of them. _They're torturing us._

Coin is still, but Plutarch is nodding beside her.

“I hope you can understand the importance of us showing the world that you are, in fact, alive and well, and have been _rescued_ by us,” Coin says, looking between the two of them. 

They've both already been shown the propaganda that Plutarch is churning out with the help of Katniss, Peeta, and Gale. Lots of well-rehearsed and moving scenes from Peeta paired with Katniss in battle, running and shouting, always on fire. Finnick feels caught off guard that they are being asked to do the same – back up the message of the mockingjay, so to say. He probably shouldn't.

Johanna is scowling beside him, and he can practically read her thoughts: _They saved us because we are useful again. Snow picks up a toy and starts to use it, so they need to steal it and use it better._

“Minimal talking,” Plutarch promises. They don't trust Johanna and they think he's too unhinged to be a reliable mouthpiece, Finnick realizes. “We'd put you topside and just film you there. Finnick, if you could say just a few words about what the Capitol did to you, that they lied, that would wrap up the whole thing.”

“Fine,” Finnick agrees. He knows Johanna is simmering for a fight, and Plutarch and Coin both seem to anticipate that. Plutarch's eyebrows raise up at his ready acceptance.

“What?” Johanna snaps at him. 

“We're going to do it,” Finnick says without looking at her. Johanna reaches for his arm, squeezes too tightly where she knows he has the worst of his injuries.

“Well then,” Coin says. “Thank you.”

“Right,” Finnick says, nodding. He gets up and pulls Johanna outside with him. They're just outside the door – with their guard again – when she explodes at him.

“You want to go from being one president's toy to another!” Johanna shouts at him, audible to anyone near them. 

“We do this, and we're done,” Finnick says to her, low. She's grabbing at his arms again, but she doesn't seem to know what she even wants to do. She doesn't attack, just holds on, too tight.

“No,” Johanna says wild-eyed. “You fucking listen to me: It won't be just this. They will take whatever else they can get from us, and you will scrape and bow and say 'yes sir, yes ma'am,' because that is what you _fucking do_ , Finnick.”

“That's not going to happen again,” Finnick says firmly. “Just this once. We undo what Snow did and that's it.”

“What Snow did,” Johanna breathes. “Those two fucks--” she points back at the room where Coin and Plutarch are still sitting. “--are the ones who left us with him and only came back to get us when we were hurting them. They don't give _a shit_ about what happens to us.”

“Johanna,” he says, leans in so they can't be overheard. “You run with the Career pack for as long as you can.” The comment just makes her screw up her face more. He knows she won't like the comparison; she, of course, never ran with the Career pack in her games. But that doesn't mean the strategy won't work here all the same.

He starts walking back, not caring if she decides to follow him or not. She does, though. 

…

The next day they are above ground with Katniss, Peeta, Gale, Annie – and the video crew. Finnick expects the whole thing to be an awkward mess – and he suspects that Johanna intends to work on making it that – but he's surprised at how much being outside affects both of them.

He blinks into the sunlight at first, has to raise up a hand to wait for his eyes to adjust. Annie smiles up at him and he smiles down at her again, struck, as always, by how beautiful she is – how the sunlight catches in her hair, and he remembers how she looks at the end of a day spent on the beach, when they're both drowsy and sand-caked. He leans in to kiss her again. A novelty, still, for everyone to know what she is to him, that they can be as tactile as they want. She claims him in front of everyone, in front of a camera even, and that's just fine. It's been the highlight of his time in Thirteen. He feels like she's the only thing that's centering him. 

“There's a river nearby,” she murmurs against his mouth.

Water. They always find water. 

They hike the short distance to the river. Johanna lingers near the periphery, still wearing an expression of feigned indifference, but Finnick notices that she keeps dragging her hands over the trees they pass, feeling the rough bark against her bare skin. 

They hear the running water before they see it. It seems like most of the others have been here before. They line up along the bank, but Annie keeps walking and Finnick follows her. The two of them head into the rushing water until it hits their knees. Annie smiles as if she's trying to hide it – the one she normally reserves for him. 

He keeps hold of her with one hand, but with the other, he leans down, catches a handful of water and splashes it up at her.

“ _Finnick Odair_ ,” she gasps out loud, shivering for only a second – and then lets go of his hand and splashes him in return. Within seconds, they're splashing at each other like children – like they do, inevitably, any given day they were down on the beach of Four. Which was quite a bit. 

The others stay up on the bank, smiling from afar, but Finnick turns just when they seem to think they're going to remain outside of the splash zone. He throws a handful of water Katniss. Her braid drips wetly and she stares at Finnick with an incredulous expression while Peeta laughs and Gale smirks. Katniss kicks hand, sending up a wall of water that hits Finnick in the face.

“I am injured,” he says in feigned seriousness, pointing at the stitches on his side – which, to be fair, he thinks _probably_ aren't supposed to get wet. 

It's only then that he notices Johanna, curled the furthest away, her expression pinched. (Scream, splash, gasp, repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

Finnick trudges away from Annie, heads up river to Johanna. She looks at him with an expression of pure hatred, but he just holds out a hand to her.

“Come on,” he says lightly.

“Fuck you,” she says, curling further away from him.

“I've got you,” he promises, quietly enough that the cameras can't pick up his words. She glances toward where the crew lingers, takes in a deep breath, and then steps forward. She doesn't take Finnick's hand, but she does stand closer to him than she normally would. A jolt races along her body the moment her feet hit the water. Finnick wants to reach for her, but doesn't. 

“I've never seen a pine like that,” she says suddenly, through gritted teeth, staring at a tree on the far bank.

“Oh?” Finnick says, twisting about. He has no idea what tree she's talking about. He figures it doesn't matter.

“Probably great for construction though,” Johanna presses, obviously forcing herself through every word. Finnick has never heard talk about anything related to her district before. 

“Want to go look at it?” Finnick asks.

They walk over to the far bank together, and Johanna immediately pulls herself back out of the water. Finnick lets her go.

Annie and Finnick dry out in the late afternoon sun, sprawled in the ruins of the building near the water. Annie falls asleep at one point, her head on Finnick's chest, and he starts to quietly braid her hair, looping stand after strand, until she has a messed braid, a poor mimic of Katniss'. She wakes up near the end and kisses the tips of his fingers, and he kisses her nose.

“Do you remember that first night we spent on the beach together?” Annie asks softly, her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Oh, you mean the one where, after, your mom wouldn't let me in your house for a month?” Finnick asks playfully. Annie's mother had never been fond of him. Perhaps rightfully so. She had been unerringly grateful that Finnick had helped bring her daughter home from the Hunger Games, for all the times that he could talk to her when no one else could reach her, but not for the relationship that grew after. Not when he was in the Capitol half the year and those months were constantly broadcast back to Four as _who is Finnick dating now and who was he with last night_? 

As frustrating as it had been dealing with her mother's stark disapproval, there had been something charmingly normal about it. 

Annie smiles at the reminder of her mother, who passed away three years ago.

“Well,” Annie admits cheekily. “Yes. But the sky was so clear that night.” Annie strokes his hair away from his face, her fingers lingering against his scalp. “And you told me you loved me for the first time. Do you remember?”

“Of course,” Finnick answers. He catches her hand and presses a warm kiss to her palm. “I still love you. I will always love you.”

She looks like she's about to say more, but Cressida calls Finnick's name. Finnick sighs and pretends not to hear her at first, but she calls again, more insistent. Annie presses a soft kiss to Finnick's shoulder, a clear signal that he should go. He forces himself up, and she wraps an arm around him, helping support his weight. 

Cressida's crew is set up in a circle near the ruins. 

“Can you stand here, Finnick?” she points to a spot in between the brothers with the cameras. He does so and takes a moment to marvel at how unkempt he probably looks for the camera. His hair is still damp, sticking in a naturally mussed way instead of the artfully mussed way his stylist always kept it. He's wearing a shirt, too, which is amazingly novel. But then, he knows he's still far thinner than he was before the Quell, the bruised look underneath his eyes not completely gone. That perfectly tanned skin has long since deserted him as well. 

“Finnick, can you tell everyone what happened during the Quarter Quell?” Cressida says to the left of the camera.

He freezes. There's Caesar Flickerman floating over him, asking the same question, pantomimed patience and sympathy. Quarter Quell, Quarter Quell, what happened in the Quarter Quell; I lost the woman who helped raise me. Did you all see that, or are you ready to forget about her? She was old anyway, right? What could I have done to save her, and then jabberjays. I'm pinned to a concrete floor, beak in my ear, and Annie is screaming, screaming, screaming.

“Finnick.”

His name again, as if Cressida is dealing with some misbehaving child instead of a man who has forgotten where he is.

He blinks, tries to refocus. Annie is shifting left and right, obviously fighting the urge to run to him. Johanna stands, arms crossed, sandwiched in between Gale and Katniss, looking as if she's about ready to say, I fucking told you so. I knew you could't fucking do this.

“My name is Finnick Odair,” he manages to get out, his first name coming out a little strange because of his stitches. “Winner of the 65th Hunger Games. I am in District Thirteen, and I want you to know the truth about what happened during the Quarter Quell.” Everyone around him settles down, relieved that he's going to be able to play his part. 

It's all just motions after that. He was part of a plan to rescue Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. He and Johanna Mason were retained by the Capitol after that. _They're torturing us_. President Snow is lying to you. President Snow has always lied to you. I am in Thirteen now. I am alive.

Cressida nods when he finishes, what he takes to be a sign of praise. 

Annie hurries back over to him, takes his hand again. They all trek back inside for dinner. It's the first time Johanna and Finnick have been with the general mass of Thirteen, and it's a disorienting experience. Finnick is starting to discover how much he doesn't care for being underground, but the methodical workings of Thirteen leave little room for comfort too. Not that he's ever been fond of the outrageous fashion in the Capitol, but the barebones jumpsuit and low lighting of Thirteen make everyone feel interchangeable. It frightens him in a strange way, and he has trouble remembering who he has met and what their names are, something that is almost never a problem for him. After weeks of relative isolation, he finds that he doesn't like being shoved into the mess hall.

He's also used to being stared at it, but not like this. He hasn't quite sorted out what Thirteen's relationship with the Hunger Games is yet. They know he's a victor, but he doesn't know if they've seen his games or what they know about him. They've all seen the video of him being tortured though. There's a wariness when people look at him and Jo here, as if they're still measuring them up. (How much did he know about was he saying for that video? Nobody asks him that directly, but the word traitor lingers on the tip of every tongue. Career, victor, Capitol favorite. These are dangerous labels in Thirteen.)

Out of their small group, Peeta is the only one who tries to smooth every thing over with small talk. Katniss and Annie answer him. (During the course of this conversation, Finnick learns, to his surprise, that Peeta is teaching Annie how to bake.)

Eventually, Johanna and Finnick are collected, returned to their hospital room as they haven't been fully discharged yet (even if they are deemed healthy enough to film propaganda). Annie comes with, naturally, bidding everyone else good night.

Finnick falls asleep faster than he expected, but is woken up to the sound of crying. As always, it takes him seconds to remember where he is (Capitol? Arena? Four? Oh right, Thirteen). He looks instinctively toward Johanna, but she is turned away from him, curled into a tight ball in the middle of the bed.

“Annie?” he asks sleepily, realizing for the first time that she isn't in bed with him. He sits up halfway and realizes that she's seated on the floor next to his bed, her head tucked against her knees, hands against her mouth to muffle her tears.

“Come here,” he says quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder and then helping her back into bed. She buries her face against his chest, and the hospital gown he is once again wearing grows damp with her tears. He makes a soft hushing noise and runs a hand along her back.

“What's wrong?” he asks into her hair. She hiccups something he can't make out at first, but then leaves her head.

“I couldn't stand listening to you talk about the Quell,” she whispers wetly. 

“Oh, Annie,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead. “It's done now. It's over. I'm here.”

“No,” she cries, a little too loud, and then tries to catch herself. “I watched, thinking I was going to see the Capitol celebrating your death. The fog and the monkeys and the lightning,” she grips him tighter. “I wanted to die seeing you like that.” She starts crying harder. “And the – the--” She can't get out whatever she's trying to say, but Finnick already knows: the jabberjays. “ _They used me against you_.”

Finnick stares up at the ceiling, because he can't say anything to that, can feel that hollowed place in his chest growing larger. The hard press of the forcefield keeping him in, and he can't swing the trident fast enough to get the birds away from them, and then a thousand more, flapping wings swirling around him and he's clawing at his wrists, _because_.

But here's the other hard truth Finnick has come to realize since they arrived back in Thirteen: Plutarch ran those games. He thought he understood why Plutarch wouldn't tell them anything about the arena they were talking into, but now he wonders. Would the games have been as entertaining if they had been able to navigate the horrors in that jungle? Why would he put in a slice that horrific? Personal. (Katniss' sister, Finnick knows, deep down. He wanted to remind the nation that this was the victor who had volunteered for her sister and that the Capitol would have killed that little girl too.) 

“I'm sorry,” Annie manages, and that's finally what spurs Finnick again.

“Hey,” he says gently, pressing a hand warmly against the side of her face. “Don't you ever be sorry for loving me.” He smiles up at her, and leans in for a slow kiss, his lips brushing over hers. “You kept me alive through those games,” he whispers, stroking his fingers through her hair. “You've kept me alive through everything.” He presses their foreheads together. “You know that, right?”

Annie nods unsurely, her tears beginning to abate.

“You know why that is?” he asks.

“Because I keep every bit of you that matters safe,” she murmurs in return, sliding her hand over where his heart is. Their old mantra, the promise they made to each other when she came to understood what was expected of him in the Capitol; it was the only sort of fidelity he could ever promise her. No one else could ever have his love. Not like she did.

“Are you okay?” he asks as her breathing evens out.

“Trying to be,” she answers; their honesty is the other half of their promise to each other.

“I want you to get some sleep,” he murmurs, pressing playful kisses all over her face – the corners of her mouth, the tip of her nose, and her chin. “And I want you to dream of a beach in Four. Maybe wear that yellow sundress. And wait for me there, all right?”

“Okay,” she answers, finally smiling down at him. She settles against him, and they both fall back asleep. For the first time in a long time, Finnick dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

Things in Thirteen became routine – and not. Finnick and Johanna are both discharged from the hospital, but they're supposed to be concentrating on the rest of their recovery. Everyone else around them seems to have tasks though. Annie works in the kitchen, Finnick discovers, which is also where she and Peeta do their baking experiments with the limited resources available in Thirteen. Finnick gets to know Katniss' family a little better – her mom and the famous little sister, who both work in the hospital. Prim is a surprisingly sweet child, he learns – and can be counted on to humor him and tell him stories, both of Twelve and Thirteen. They establish a trade where he tells her about Four (mostly) and the more benign tales of the Capitol (rarely).

He and Johanna have yet to be given their roles though, and Finnick think it's because they don't know where to put them. He's fairly certain that Plutarch wants to stick them on “Team War,” (as Johanna has taken to calling them), but Coin doesn't seem to trust them and Johanna has made it abundantly obvious that she wants to be left alone. Yet, they don't have many other helpful skills. (Victors, so good at killing other people and being a source of entertainment. Not great at anything related to everyday tasks.)

Really, they take to following Haymitch around quite a bit. 

Finnick knows this won't last long, and it doesn't. He gets summoned to Plutarch and Coin for a Team War meeting. 

“Finnick,” Plutarch says warmly when he arrives, pumping his hand up and down enthusiastically. Finnick settles down across the table from them, wondering what's going to be asked of him this time. Coin smiles, but it seems as if she's going to let Plutarch do the talking this time. (He suspects this means they think he's going to need to be convinced.)

“I think we have an idea you're really going to like,” Plutarch says brightly, smiling at him. “I think everyone can agree that one of the cruelest things the Capitol did to you was refusing to allow you to be with Miss Cresta.” Finnick bristles at the mere mention, but he keeps calm on the outside. He wonders how often his _responsibilities_ as a victor have been discussed. 

“And I think that one of the _best_ parts of you being here in Thirteen is how open you can be with that love,” Plutarch says, pressing a hand across his heart. “You and Annie really are an inspiration to everyone around you.” 

Empty words, Finnick thinks. ( _They used me against you_.) But Finnick still can't see where this is going exactly. They're not going to ask him to do what Snow asked him to do for the last 10 years, because, well – who would there to be sleep with down here anyway? The image of Coin offering him to Boggs for a job well done rises to the forefront of his mind (remember to share that one with Johanna, he tucks away) and he has to fight down that sick blast of laugher in his chest once again. Instead, he remains serious as Plutarch eventually winds up to his point.

“We want to give you what Snow would never let you have,” Plutarch says, getting to the end of his pitch. He waits, as if expecting Finnick to guess.

“A wedding,” Coin concludes for Plutarch. She says it the way other people would say the word funeral. He guesses that wedding celebrations are nothing like they are in the Capitol or even in Four.

Finnick tries to ask, “A wedding?” but his throat won't work. It's gone oddly tight, and he doesn't know why. 

The idea of marrying Annie has never been an option to him. (She had dreamed of it once, before she understood how Snow used him, openly picturing what sort of dress she would wear and how they could have everything down on the beach. That illusion, and any that involved them having children, growing old together, had been buried when she learned that Snow still owned his body. It was never mentioned again after that, a silent treaty to help them endure the burden they now carried together.)

He hasn't even considered it since landing here, despite their mutual enjoyment of being able to hold hands wherever they go, kissing openly. 

But, if he had been daydreaming about what his wedding to Annie Cresta would be like, he knows that figuring into Plutarch Heavensbee and Alma Coin's plan would never be part of it.

“Why?” he asks instead. They have to have a motive for this.

“A wedding is a symbol of hope,” Plutarch says. “Shared happiness and fresh beginnings. And we thought _your_ new beginning would be a good one to show to the rest of the nation. To let them see what we're capable of building.”

They want to use his wedding, his _love_ for Annie, as propaganda.

“And what was Katniss and Peeta's wedding supposed to be then?” Finnick asks, the words escaping him before he can stop them. (Too much time with Johanna, probably.) 

Plutarch stills, but Coin leans forward, appraising him. Plutarch thinks that what he has done in the Capitol is separate from what he does here, but to Finnick it's a continuum. It's the same tricks under a new facade, and he's not ready to forgive Plutarch for his Capitol exploits – not when it's clear that nobody is ready to forget Finnick's.

He knows he should apologize and maybe that's precisely why he doesn't.

“I want to talk to Annie about it,” Finnick says instead. “She should probably know if she's going to be a bride.” He tacks on his best Capitol-ready smile to smooth it over – or maybe not, because Alma Coin is part of a very select group of women who are not charmed by that smile in the slightest.

“Of course, of course,” Plutarch answers, as if this is part of his plan. (Is it? Finnick wonders, paranoid.)

Finnick is dismissed and heads immediately back to the bunk area that he and Annie are sharing. She is there, changing the sheets on the small bed. She smiles when she first sees him, but when he leans in the doorway without saying anything, her smile quickly dissipates.

“What's wrong?” she asks immediately. 

“I just spoke to Plutarch and Coin,” Finnick admits.

Annie nods, but doesn't seem particularly surprised at the revelation.

“They spoke to me this morning,” she answers, her words more measured than usual.

“What?” Finnick asks.

She bite at her lip and takes a step toward him, tucking his hands into hers.

“They asked me if there was anything I could do to speed along your recovery,” she answers honestly.

“They what?”

“I think they want you to have a more active role in the war,” she says quietly, and she holds his hands so tight, as if she thinks he might slip away from her this very second. “They know how popular you were in the Capitol, Finnick.”

It was a sloppy attempt, Finnick thinks sourly, because nothing makes him more resistant to wanting to help them than knowing that they tried to manipulate Annie to get to him. Did they think she wouldn't tell him?

“Finnick, sit down,” she says, tugging him to back to the bed. He does as he's told, following her direction. He isn't used to feeling this angry, and he doesn't know what to do with the emotion. He's used to being used. But he isn't used to someone pretending not to do it. He finds the sneaking smarts more than someone explicitly admitting to holding sway over him. 

He's good at playing roles, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to be here. And he knows that he doesn't want to be back in the Capitol, but he doesn't know if he wants to be here either, really. He pushes his head into his hands. 

Annie presses a kiss to his temple. 

“And did they tell you about this wedding idea?” he asks her, looking up at her, feeling helpless.

“Yes,” she answers. She looks sad – which isn't what she should be, what she should have to be, at hearing that they have the opportunity to get married.

“What do you think?” he asks. 

“Finnick,” she sighs. “Please don't do this to me again.”

“Do what?” he asks, confused.

She reaches for his hand again, keeping them anchored to each other. With her other hand, she pushes his hair from his face, her thumb smoothing along his forehead.

“Do you remember what you asked me before the Quarter Quell?” 

He stares up at her, waiting for her to continue. He does, but he doesn't see how it's relevant to this conversation.

“You asked me to forgive you for what you would do in the arena,” Annie says softly. “Because you knew, to come back to me, you would have to betray and kill people you knew. And I told you to come back to me anyway. And that's because I'm too selfish to give you up,” her voice breaks a little at the last part. “But I can't live with the guilt of asking you to go against your conscience again, not for this.” 

She presses each of her hands on either side of his face and makes him sit up more readily to look at her.

“I love you,” she says, smiling as she says it. “I love you, and you know that. And I would have stood by you for forever even if we could have never been married. You are my other half, Finnick Odair. And I will now marry you however I can. I don't give a _damn_ ,” she flushes at the swear word, something she doesn't usually do, “If they want to broadcast our wedding. But if this isn't how you want it, that's not what I want it either. We've done well enough all this time without.”

The turbulence in his heart is quieted by her words. He shuts his eyes for just a moment. This, he thinks, is what their marriage should be all about. Their persistence in the face of everything that's been thrown at them, and how they are unrelenting in their support of each other.

“You're too good for me, you know,” he says.

“No,” Annie murmurs. “Because I'm your other half too.”

“I want us to be married,” he says urgently, his hands clasping her face in turn. “I want everyone to know that you're the only one I've ever loved. But I don't want our wedding to be a farce to be used for the rebellion.”

“Okay,” Annie answers, kisses him gently.

“Is it?” he asks fretfully.

“Finnick Odair,” Annie says, pulling away to hit him lightly on the forehead with her fingertips. “Are you listening to me at all?”

She pushes him playfully on top of their unmade bed and he lands among the sheets while she climbs atop of him. 

“What am I going to do with you?” she sighs teasingly and then pulls him in for a kiss. 

“Get rid of me, I suppose,” Finnick says, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Find yourself another attractive blond with perfect hair who can gracefully and expertly wield a trident.”

“I know a thousand of those,” she says, wrinkling her nose. 

_This_ , Finnick thinks as they sink into another kiss, _this is them_.

…

He and Johanna are allowed to go topside with Katniss and Gale, who apparently regularly hunt. The three of them tease him mercilessly about his inability to keep quiet – something, as a victor, he had thought himself good at until he's traipsing around in the woods with three people who all grew up there.

Gale ends up going off on his own while he, Katniss, and Johanna settle down by the river again. There, he tells them about Plutarch's grand wedding plans. 

“I told you,” Johanna hisses immediately. “I _told_ you it wouldn't be the one video.” 

Finnick expects this answer, but it's Katniss' he is more curious about. Their little mockingjay, the one who has agreed to be in any number of videos that Plutarch and Coin request.

“What do you think?” he asks her. That seems to shut even Johanna up. She also peers over at Katniss.

“I mean, we have to do whatever we can to get Snow out of power, right?” she says it more like she wants validation from the two of them. It occurs to Finnick for the first time that Katniss has been in a lot more propaganda lately than Peeta. At first, he had chalked it up to Katniss being the mockingjay, but he wonders now if neither of them are as on board with this as they seem. Katniss is ready to take down Snow, that much is obvious, but Peeta, to Finnick, has always been more about using nonviolent methods, even in the games, to an extent. 

Finnick makes a thoughtful noise, but doesn't answer yet. Of course, he might be a bit biased having been on the negative end of _doing whatever it takes_ to displace Snow. 

“Right,” Johanna starts. “Because we're trading in one president for another who is using Capitol tactics and is supported by an entire Capitol propaganda team. Sounds like we're really building up a great new world.”

_Vengeance_ , Finnick remembers Coin saying only to be corrected by Plutarch: _justice_. A thin line existed between the two of them in this rebellion, but it made all the difference.

“What do you suggest doing?” Katniss asks, a touch of impatience in her voice. Finnick knows to be careful or she and Johanna will be at each other's throats within seconds. “We can't fight Snow on our own.”

“We run with the Career pack as long as we can,” Finnick says abruptly, echoing his words to Johanna from earlier. But they seem to take better form now: stay with the experienced fighters, do what you have to do to stay in with them, get rid of them at the end when they aren't expecting it.

“You want to overthrow the leaders of the rebellion _and_ Snow's government?” Katniss asks incredulously. 

Johanna isn't arguing with him though. He doesn't know if he should take that as a sign that it's a good plan or a completely crazed one. 

“She will be the next Snow,” Finnick says, pointing back at where they've come from. “Johanna's right. They don't want to _rebuild_ anything. They just want to switch out one leader for another. If we're going to do this, we need to do it right.”

“What does that mean?” Katniss asks. 

“I don't know,” Finnick admits. “It means we keep playing the game.”

It's not something that anybody here wants to hear. Finnick knows the connotations of his words aren't lost on him: under his own directive, he needs to let Plutarch use his wedding. _To new beginnings and hopes_ , Finnick thinks.

Gale comes back and Johanna treks ahead with him, discussing hunting techniques. Finnick lingers back, keeping his pace purposefully slow because he hates going back underground. Katniss stays with him, looking pensive. He thinks she's thinking over what they've discussed, but she surprises him when she asks her next question.

“How did you know it was Annie?” she says, and Finnick smiles, because it's amusing to him that Katniss Everdeen ever thinks about anything as mundane as _boys_. It's easy to forgot that she's seventeen years old and that, occasionally, something normal might happen to her other than focusing on being the focal point of a revolution seventy-five years in the making.

“Are you asking me to help you pick between Peeta and Gale?” Finnick asks knowingly, almost teasing. 

He sees Katniss tense up beside him, obviously about to blow him off, but he reaches out a hand, stopping her.

“You know how I knew it was Annie?” Finnick says, turning serious. “Because she was one of the few people in my life who made me want to be a better person and then also _helped_ me be a better person. I would have been dead before I was twenty if I hadn't met her. You know I was high at her reaping? I was strung out on every drug I could get my hands on after I turned fifteen. I couldn't stand what I had to do in the Capitol,” Katniss doesn't react, and Finnick assumes that his Capitol job _has_ been the discussion of at least one Team War meeting. 

“The year she was reaped, I had overdosed three times alone by the time the games came up,” Finnick says. “Eventually, I would have managed to kill myself and made it look like an accident. But then I met her – and she struggled so much after her games, but she _always_ came back. She could have let herself go, but instead, every time, she fought her way back. And I remember, I asked her why, and she told me that she wanted to be there for when the times were good. And after awhile I realized that my times with her were always good. So, I cleaned myself up for those times. Because when we were together – when we _are together_ – we actually want to be together. She never accepts the bullshit from me that other people do.”

Katniss is silent for a few moments, ingesting what he's said. 

“I heard Gale tell Peeta that I'll only pick the one of them that I can't survive without,” she says. 

“Sweetheart, you're a victor,” Finnick says immediately. “You can survive without either of them, and you know it. But only one of them will make you want to survive for them.” 

…

For all his cynicism and for all his worries, their wedding is beautiful. (The cameras are barely noticeable.) He forgets about them entirely the moment Annie is in front of him, radiant. She's swathed in a light green dress that reminds him quietly of the ocean, and she has on some of the bracelets she's made. 

(He remembers: her coming up to the stage for the first time. Annie Cresta, an unknown girl out of a sea of faces that Finnick hadn't paid much attention to. Annie Cresta on the train, calmer than most were, but with those shaking hands that Finnick had fixated on, and he had never known how to talk to her; she had seen right through him. Him running to her after her games, and she was shaking and drenched, hyperventilating, but she had clung to him like he was the only thing she had ever known. Then, they had come home, and he had to be there all the time, whispering her back to her body. And then she had become more and more permanent, and suddenly, Annie Cresta, his shy tribute _flirting_ with him. Smiling and lingering touches and finally a bold kiss that had confused Finnick. A flirtation that persisted even though Finnick knew it was disaster and he had pulled away again and again and again, but she had sorted it out. She never asked, just knew, and they clung. Promises, sewn together eternally.)

And here they are now, Johanna and Haymitch standing beside him, Peeta and Katniss trailing after Annie. Annie beams up at him as she comes to stand underneath the net they had spent the previous day weaving together outside. She reaches for his hands, and he has to fight the urge to kiss her right away.

The short service begins, but Finnick doesn't pay much attention to the words. He's too caught up in Annie beside him; it hits him over and over again that they are being married, being bound to each other in sight of everyone, in front of everyone. To him, this is the purest act of rebellion. They are reclaiming him in every way they can; this is the last chapter of his rescue.

Johanna holds out a bowl of salt water for them, and Annie dabs her fingers in first. She traces her forefinger and middle finger over his lips, and he takes advantage of the moment to nip the tips gently. Annie casts him and amused but chiding look.

Finnick follows after, dipping his thumb in the water. He slides it over her upper lip and then lower. 

The accomplished, they are given permission to kiss: named man and wife.

Finnick kisses Annie as if his life depends on it, as if it is their first kiss and their last. Annie laughs and cries against him, one of her hands clinging to his shoulder, the other pressed against his face.

“I'm so happy,” she breathes when they separate. “I'm so happy.”

“Good,” he murmurs, kisses her again. 

The area is cleared again, and the best music Thirteen can manage is struck up. He and Annie find themselves in the middle of their little crowd, dancing to a somewhat off-kilter beat.

“This everything you ever dreamed of, Mrs. Odair?” Finnick teases lightly as Annie rests her head on his shoulder.

“I didn't expect to feel so old,” Annie laughs, “Being called Mrs. Odair.”

“Mrs. Odair,” Finnick breathes into her ear again. 

The music is slow for only a short while. The beat of their dance changes, and then Annie is whirling quickly, her skirts flying up in a wave of green. He's never been able to keep up with her when they dance, and that is the truth of it. Johanna drags Peeta and Katniss out, and matches to snag Gale for herself, although Gale looks like he'd rather be doing anything than dancing.

It isn't the celebration Finnick would have ever expected. But as he and Annie slip back to their bunk in the early morning hours, he has to admit that he is happy.

They play this game in the following days, eating the rest of their wedding cake while still in bed: where they would have gone, what they could have seen if they had a honeymoon. Finnick balances a plate on Annie's belly, eating frosting.

“Some place with snow,” Annie says thoughtfully. 

“Cold?” Finnick asks, amused. “You hate the cold.” He dabs a bit of frosting on her lower lip. 

“I would like to see snow,” Annie answers. “I think it would be pretty. And I read that when water freezes – like a pond – they used to put on these shoes with blades on the bottom and glide over the top of the ice.”

“Why?” Finnick asks.

“It's supposed to be _fun_ ,” she chastises him playfully, taking the opportunity to dab frosting on his nose. He deftly catches her hand before she can pull away, sucking away the frosting that still lingers there. She stares at him for a minute, and he can feel her pulse pick up underneath his touch.

“Your turn,” she says, but it's a low whisper.

“My turn?” he asks, curling his tongue around her fingertip.

“To go,” Annie says, and it doesn't sound like she has any idea what she's saying. He smiles, pleased with himself. (What he has always loved about Annie, what has made him comfortable with her, is how easily she feels everything. Her reactions are pure, she's at ease with any of her desires, and she's always been more open about expressing them than him – something that most people never seem to understand in their relationship. She takes point.)

He tugs her closer, and leans up just a little, so his mouth is flush against her ear. He quietly whispers exactly the next place he would like to be and watches the curve of her mouth turn embarrassed, watches her flush. 

“That's not a honeymoon,” she says, kisses him and then nips his lower lip.

“Nope,” he answers, pressing his nose against the side of hers.

…

The video of their wedding airs across the Capitol and they're still in bed. They retreat for rare moments, mostly to get food, occasionally to shower. Finnick has already gotten in trouble twice for being caught sneaking meals back to their bunk in an attempt to keep them from leaving. Annie is excused from her kitchen duties for a week, and, at the end of that week, it comes as no surprise to either of them that Plutarch and Coin also ask to see him again.

“What game are we playing now?” Annie murmurs, watching him with a worried expression as he struggles in vain to find some kind of clothing to wear to his meeting. (He's ready to give them up entirely. He's almost more comfortable in his skin now that he has scars to remember what was done to him.)

Finnick sits down on the edge of the bed again, pressing his forehead against hers, his fingertips skating along her belly.

“The kind that keep us safe,” he says. Her worry grows more pronounced and she reaches up to press her hands against the sides of his face. She studies him, as if she's learning his features for the first time. She wants to ask him something of him, but she doesn't. Instead she wraps around him, holds him too tightly. She shakes underneath him, and he wishes he could make more promises to her. He doesn't. He never has, because he knows that he can keep too few of them.

He kisses her once more, and then is off for his Team War meeting. 

They've established the whole lot today: Gale, Peeta, Katniss, Haymitch, Beetee, Plutarch, Coin, Boggs, Cressida and her crew. Finnick is the last one to get there, drops himself carelessly down into the only open chair. He wishes that, if they were going to invite everyone in the Capitol, that Johanna was there to be on his side.

He keeps himself loose, not quite the masquerade that he put on in the Capitol, but infused with genuine happiness even though he knows something bad is coming from the way everyone is looking at him.

“We'd like you to do another propo,” Plutarch says immediately. He remembers Coin and Plutarch telling him it would just be the one, right? Just the one to convince everyone that he was well and safe in Thirteen and it wasn't the rebels who were torturing anyone. 

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to,” Beetee tacks on quietly. 

Oh, he's not going to like this, is he? Finnick looks about the room for a clue. He doesn't know what could be worse than using his wedding, but apparently there is something. Katniss won't meet his gaze, but Haymitch grins cockily at him.

“Finnick, you have rare intel from inside the Capitol,” Plutarch begins – for being a salesman, he does take a frightfully long time to get to his point, even though Finnick can see where this is going from a mile off. “We were hoping you might share just exactly how you came across some of that intel and anything that might be … damaging to Snow's image and government.”

This is why they didn't ask Johanna in, because she would have a crass answer to that, probably something to do with being a whore. 

He's surprised to realize he doesn't know how he feels about this plan. He had expected the familiar kick of fear, a reminder that his secret has always been the most important to protect. Not only had he been made to keep quiet, but in truth, he's always been ashamed too. It was easier for him to let people think he had control. Sure, he's the party boy. Sure, he takes too many lovers. Any of that is better than the truth. And that's the truth that Plutarch wants to package now.

But boy, does he ever have the story that Plutarch wants. (Actually, probably the one that Snow was ready to turn him into an Avox for.) 

Regardless of his own personal feelings though, he's already committed to this when he and Johanna and Katniss talked things through before his wedding. If this is what Plutarch thinks he needs, Finnick will share this too.

“Sure,” Finnick says, shrug of his shoulders.

“Finnick,” Peeta starts to say, but Finnick shakes him off. Peeta has no idea, anyway, how close he came to the same fate. 

“We're very close,” Coin promises a second later when no one else says anything. “We have gained control in several of the districts. We just need to hit the heart of the Capitol.” 

Finnick just smiles. At this point in his life, it's a defense mechanism. 

They have him with what passes for a stylist in Thirteen by that afternoon and with Cressida's crew again an hour later. They go topside for this, and although Finnick isn't sure why it matters in this case, he goes anyway, because he'd rather be outside than underground any time. Katniss and Peeta trail after them, and Haymitch drags himself after a bit too. Finnick half-heartedly wishes that none of them were there, but, in the end, it doesn't really matter. What he's going to say is going to be heard by everyone in Thirteen, won't it?

He disengages immediately. Just words, he reminds himself. None of this matters anymore. It was never who I was, he tells himself, but he knows that's not the truth of it. He spent so long pretending to be Finnick Odair that he doesn't know where the line between real and not real exists anymore. 

He smiles, obedient, as the camera whirs in, and is alarmed to realize just how easily he has fallen into these old habits again. (But then: Did he ever really stop?)

“You could thank everyone for sharing in the happiness of your wedding,” Cressida suggests.

“No,” Finnick answers immediately, and, well, that's an improvement at least. He stares into the lens then, breathes, starts talking. He doesn't let himself think about it, just launches into it: _Here's the truth. You can survive the arena. But as soon as you're out of it, you're a slave_. Snow sold me. Snow sold my body. He thinks about Cashmere, Gloss, now dead, but the ones he was most used to seeing in the Capitol alongside him. He thinks of a thousand lovers back in the Capitol and he wonders what they will think when they see him. _We never made him do anything he didn't want to, believe me._

(Oh, Cressida and her crew are uncomfortable.)

And then his secrets are all gone. Ten years worth of them, ten years pretending that he wasn't the best and most expensive prostitute in all of Panem. Ten years spent lying to everyone in order to pretend he even had the slightest bit of control in his life.

And so on to Snow's secrets: the rise to power and poison, poison, poison. Those little welts that never heal. 

Cressida motions for him to keep going, so he does. He recites a laundry list of sins against all the top officials in Snow's government. Military, gamemakers, policy makers – he could go on for forever. But let's get it all out now, so that there are no more cameras in his face, no more Plutarch pretending to ask for favors. He gives them everything he has, everything he knows. 

He breathes when he's done, doesn't let himself think back over everything he's said. Everyone around him is dead silent. He's almost proud of himself. He's managed to shock the girl on fire. 

Haymitch finally swaggers over and pounds him once on the back.

“Let's get dinner!” he declares.

They all tromp back inside, but Finnick doesn't go with them. He heads back to Annie and collapses on their bed, face down. She hovers him for an instant, and then just climbs on his back, lying on top of him. She presses a kiss against the back of his neck, and he hears the question implicit in it: _What have you done?_

He turns his head just a little so that she can hear him talk.

“With the next rebel broadcast, everyone will know the fine work I was doing in the Capitol,” Finnick says, a touch of coyness infused into the words.

He feels Annie go still on top of him.

“In case you need to--”

“Don't!” Annie says sharply, pulling away, hands clamped over her ears. She shuts her eyes and shoves herself into the corner of the bed. “Do _not_ use your Capitol voice on me, Finnick Odair!”

Belatedly, he realizes that's exactly what he's been doing. That sick, faux humor. Too much drawling, no sincerity. He swallows it down and sits up, reaching for her.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly, rubbing his hands along her arms until she lowers them and looks up at him again, tears brimming in her eyes.

“You've never understood,” she says, breathing too quickly. “Not even now; I'm not ashamed of you. I have _never_ been ashamed of you, but I _hate_ who it makes you pretend to be.” She crowds him again, hands pressed against the side of his face, so that he can't look away even though he wants to. “I already _know_ who you are, Finnick,” she murmurs. “I know that you are brave and kind and incredibly compassionate. I know, that despite _everything_ you have been through, you do love openly.” Her voice catches again.

“Finnick,” she says, and she's practically begging him now. “I understand why you need to be a part of whatever is happening – and I love you for that too – but for when you're here with me, I need you _here_. And _please_ , stop hiding things from me. I know you and Johanna and Katniss, you're all up to something. I can handle it. Whatever it is you're doing this time, I can handle it.”

He knows he's guilty of that too: He's spent so much of his life protecting her that he does underestimate her. 

“I know,” is all he ends up saying, quiet. “I need to see this all through to the end.” He searches her face for understanding; she nods in a resigned way, although he sees it's the answer she was expecting.

“So, I'm going to do what they ask of me for now,” Finnick says. “But not like before. Not ever like before. Okay?”

Annie nods again.

“I don't want to see the new video,” Annie admits – as if it's her own secret.

“I don't either,” Finnick answers. 

They skip the showing, the grand presentation that every new propo gets. They are delinquent, wrapped up in each other. They will Finnick's past to be forgotten even if no one else wants to let it go.


	4. Chapter 4

After that one, Finnick is left alone. He and Johanna fade to the background again for the time being – toys that were skillfully used, but reaching the end of their worth. (Expendable, he hears Johanna say from time to time, and Finnick is more careful.)

The war is going well though; with a unified front of victors, district after district has joined the cause. The Capitol is crippled at this point, and the rumors that filter back to them is that after Finnick's damaging delivery of all of the Capitol's sins, some of the higher-ups have run for cover, leaving Snow at the very top by himself. 

It's Haymitch who ends up bringing Finnick and Johanna the news. (It's like old times. Nobody suspects an old drunk, or former drunk for now, of being the most dedicated messenger.)

“Snow is asking to meet with Coin for negotiations,” Haymitch announces. 

“Is he going to surrender?” Finnick asks, surprised.

“That's the word on the street,” Haymitch says. Johanna and Finnick look at each other.

“If you believe that old snake is capable of surrendering,” Haymitch takes on. “Coin ain't that stupid. She's sending Katniss, Gale, and Boggs with a few people to see what's really happening. Plane's leaving tonight.”

Even Katniss is expendable now, it seems. Or rather, her death may come to be more valuable than her life. If this is a trap, Snow gets the mockingjay. Coin gets more propaganda. If not, Coin thinks she can still share the victory. 

“So, we should be on this little team?” Johanna says. 

“Coin don't trust neither one of you,” Haymitch answers, but he's smiling: Both of them are going, but they need to be clever about getting there. 

Finnick nods. Johanna's got both her hands gripped into fists, but Finnick can't tell why.

“Now, Beetee's waiting downstairs for both of you,” Haymitch tacks on. He wags his fingers at the both of them. “Toodle-loo.”

It's their dismissal and Finnick and Johanna head down the winding flight of stairs, which, at this time of day, is empty. They're about halfway down when Johanna grabs him without warning, shoving him hard against the wall. He almost loses his balance and falls the rest of the way.

“You're not going,” she tells him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Finnick asks. He doesn't push against her hold not yet, just stares down at her as if she's gone absolutely mad.

“You. Are. Not. Going,” Johanna repeats again, each word more pronounced, louder – as if he actually had trouble hearing her instead of failing to grasp what she meant. 

“Of course I'm going,” Finnick answers immediately. He tries to brush her off this time, but she slams him back up against the wall hard enough that the back of his head hits. She levers more of her weight against his throat, and it's suddenly a bit hard to breathe. He forgets what she can do when she really wants something.

“Why the fuck would you come with?” Johanna asks. Her other hand balls into a fist and for an instant, he thinks she's going to hit him. “You _just got married_. Annie is upstairs waiting for you, you fucking idiot. Shut your bullshit savior complex down, march your ass back to your room, and sit down. That's all have you to do this time. We don't need you.”

His first instinct is to argue with her, but she doesn't let him get a word in until she's done. And as she continues talking, the guilt hits him like a backdraft. He'd told Annie when he first arrived here that they wouldn't be separated again. 

She lets go of him, and Finnick can't help but notice that she's shaking. He rests his hands on her shoulders slowly, expecting Johanna to throw him off, but she doesn't. Instead, he's shocked to see that Johanna starts crying, tears streaming silently down her face. She looks up at him defiantly, challenging him to say something about them, but he doesn't. He's never seen her cry before. Not through anything. Not after her mother and brothers were all killed out in Seven while she was trapped in the Capitol. Not when they met again in the Capitol for the Quell or the entire time they were trapped there. Never has he seen Johanna Mason cry. He wonders if anyone ever has.

He gathers her closer, giving her plenty of opportunity to hit him if she feels the need. He hugs her gently and she actually wraps her arms around him in return, face buried in his shoulder for an instant. He can feel the prickle of where her hair is growing in against his face.

“I'll lie if you tell anyone about this,” she says stuffily.

“I know,” Finnick answers with a smile on his face. “And we can lie about this later, too: I love you, Jo. I'm going to talk to Annie. Wait for me with Beetee.”

He pulls away and starts up the stairs. Belatedly, Johanna sorts out exactly what he's told her.

“You're a god damn idiot, Finnick!” she screams after him. 

Finnick runs up level after level with her words echoing after him. He stops in his and Annie's room first, and doesn't find her there. He goes to the kitchen next, but the head cook stops him on the way in. 

“You can't be in here,” he says immediately, trying to push him back out.

“No, no,” Finnick protests, still trying to walk in. “My wife--”

“Finnick?” 

Ahead of them, Peeta Mellark stands with a large bowl, a smudge of flour on his cheek. It doesn't hide the dark circles underneath his eyes. He's staying behind too, Finnick realizes. 

“I'm here for Annie,” Finnick says, realizing that he's still talking too quickly. Peeta looks at him with a touch of wariness, but then nods. He turns around to get Annie and the head cook relents. 

“Wait here,” he says sternly, pointing to the ground. Finnick nods obediently. His heart feels like it's racing in his chest as he waits for Annie to surface. Peeta appears again and then there's Annie walking behind him. The sight of her suckerpunches him. He feels like he did when he first got here and she appeared in the doorway, flinging herself at him. He feels like he did every time he got off the train at Four, long weeks spent without her, feeling like he had drowned.

They both look at him, Peeta with a strange expression. But Annie's face crumples the moment she sees him. Peeta turns to look at her again, and she smiles fleetingly, before walking over to where Finnick is by herself.

The moment they are past the kitchen doors, she starts crying, burying her face in her hands.

“Come here,” he says quietly, pulling her against him.

“You're leaving me again, aren't you?” she says into his shoulder, her words muffled. He doesn't say anything because he doesn't know what to say. He just holds her, feels her shake against him. 

She pulls away, frames his face in her hands.

“Come back to me,” she says with intensity, a command given. 

He nods.

“No,” Annie says, shaking her head almost feverishly. “Say it out loud. Promise me.”

“I promise I will come back to you,” he says, pressing his forehead against hers. It's selfish. He knows he shouldn't make this promise. He knows that he's going in to the Capitol, a place that has tried again and again to destroy him, and that he's giving them another chance to succeed. 

The words still calm her a little. She kisses him, an act of desperation.

“Be brave, but don't be reckless, please,” she presses, her mouth still against his. 

“I won't be reckless,” he echoes, making another promise. He slides his hand over her heart. “Keep it safe for me,” he whispers, and she nods. Her eyes well with tears again. 

“This is the last time,” Finnick promises. He knows it's not what he said to her before, when he said he was done, but she nods again anyway. (They have promised not to lie to each other, but they don't consider these lies, not really. They are the half-truths they need to believe to be able to continue onward.)

“I love you,” Annie says tremulously. She reaches up suddenly and takes off the shell necklace she is wearing and places it up his neck instead. 

“I love you,” he answers as well. Three simple words they've said to each other for so long, but still have never been able to fully describe the depth of what he feels for her. They part, but slowly, Annie catching him for another kiss that lingers. 

He starts to walk, wills himself to not look back at where he's left her standing by the kitchen doors.

“Finnick!” Annie calls fretfully, suddenly, and he turns without thinking. She's taken two steps after him, but then she catches herself, half smiles, and shakes her head. He tries to smile back at her, but doesn't know if he manages it. 

She's the one who turns then, heading hastily back into the kitchen. He takes a breath and starts walking again, only to be surprised by the sound of his name once again – Peeta this time though. 

Finnick pauses and Peeta stops a few feet away from him. 

“Take care of her please,” Finnick says, looking back toward the kitchen doors. Peeta nods solemnly.

“You too,” Peeta echoes. 

“I will,” Finnick says. He knows this isn't any easier for Peeta, to let Katniss go, then it is for him and Annie. He knows Peeta would come with if he had to. But at the end of the day, they all know that Peeta isn't a fighter – not in the same way that he and Johanna, Katniss, and Gale are. Katniss may have been the one who is remembered for the trick with the berries, but Peeta was the one who was brave enough, loved strongly enough, to sway an entire nation, including a girl on fire. That's far more rare, Finnick thinks. They've all seen sorrow, manipulation, anger in the games before. But Peeta was the first time Finnick had ever seen real love. 

“I need to go,” Finnick says, and Peeta nods. 

Finnick heads back down the stairs as quickly as he came up them, moving to Beetee's lab. By the time he arrives, Johanna is already suited up. She wears no expression when she sees him.

“Quickly, Finnick,” Beetee says. Finnick strips down, pulling on the nondescript black military clothing that Beetee hands him. 

“Arm out,” Beetee instructs, and slides Finnick's arm underneath one of the machines used to make their daily schedules. The ink already on Finnick's arm modifies itself.

“This will make it appear as if you're supposed to be on the trip,” Beetee says. “You're taking the place of two other teammates, so keep the helmet on until you land in the Capitol. You'll be loaded in the bottom half of the plane, so you'll be shown as being on board, but you shouldn't be interacting much with the rest of the team until you land. Boggs won't be able to do anything about you being there by then.” 

Finnick pulls his sleeve back down, props the helmet underneath his arm.

“And this,” Beetee says, wheeling over to the table that is filled with an array of hand-crafted weapons. “This is for you.” 

A trident rests at the edge of the table. He glances back over at Johanna and sees that she has a belt to her outfit that he doesn't have. It's outfitted with four axes, two on each hip, the handles and blades each different. 

“Your outfit has a holding place for it,” Beetee says, gesturing to the straps on the back of Finnick's jacket. “But I would keep it in hand as soon as you're on the ground,” Beetee warns.

Finnick nods automatically and reaches for the resting trident. It's done in dark colors to match Johanna and Katniss – none of the gleam that he carried with him in the 65th or 75th Hunger Games. This one fits more readily in his hand, the balance down to perfection; Beetee has crafted this with him in mind. Still, it feels strange to be holding a trident again. It's so easy, but he knows what he's going to do with this. These are weapons that are intended for him and Jo to be killers again. 

“Thank you,” Finnick says. His voice comes off a bit strange. 

“You'd better hurry,” Beetee says. “Gale and Katniss are the only two who will know you're there.” Finnick nods again and Johanna jams her helmet on. Finnick follows suit and the crackling of the radio fills his right ear. Johanna starts to walk toward the exit.

“Finnick. Johanna,” Beetee says abruptly. They both halt for only a second. 

“Be safe,” Beetee says, glancing down at the floor as he speaks to them. Johanna makes an indistinguishable noise in the back of her throat, and then they continue on. They're admitted into the hangar without any problem, just a flash of the tattoos on their arms, and they're confirmed as being on board, tucked into the belly of the hovercraft. Some equipment is loaded in the bottom with them, and then they're closed in. 

Voices start coming in over their intercoms, confirming the arrival of Katniss, Gale, and Boggs. Within fifteen minutes they're in the air. 

They're heading back to the Capitol.

It's only then that Finnick really starts to realize what they've done. If this is a trick, they might be killed in open air. They might be taken again the moment they hit the ground. There are a great many things that could happen. (Back in the basement of the tribute center, back on the concrete floor with no windows, and Johanna's screaming in the cell next to him, Annie's voice screaming inside of a jabberjay.) The least likely is that Snow will surrender to them. 

Finnick reaches for Johanna's hand. It's a testament to how she must be feeling that she lets him take it, and doesn't shrug him off. They don't talk the entire flight. They can't see anything from the belly of the hovercraft. The only way they know where they are is the occasional update from the pilot above them. 

They enter Capitol airspace and Finnick forgets to breathe. All he can think about is how high up they are. Open targets. 

“He won't kill us up here,” Johanna whispers. Finnick looks toward her even though he can't see her face.

“He'll want to show us dying,” Johanna says, and then stops speaking.

It's a cold comfort.

But she's right. They land without incident, and when they step outside, Finnick is surprised to see that they are on the top of the tribute center. The sun is setting in the distance, night just starting to fall on the Capitol. The city is strangely dark and silent. Finnick stares out at the expanse in front of him, Johanna lingering near his side. He wonders if she's thinking about the last time they were in this building – or the night before the Quarter Quell when they both met up here and watched the sun set, figuring that, Plutarch's efforts or not, they were going to die in the Quell. 

The rest come off the aircraft; Cressida is here, but Finnick is surprised that she's only brought one of the brothers, Pollux. Aside from that, it's Boggs, three of his men, Katniss, and Gale. 

Boggs orders for them to head inside, and they enter the top floor of the tribute center. Twelve, Finnick thinks faintly. The last place Katniss Everdeen had been the last time she was in the Capitol. Her shoulders are tight at the lead of their small pack, but if Katniss is remembering anything that happened here, she doesn't share it with the rest of the group. 

Finnick has his trident out and in hand, and beside him, Johanna has one of her axes. Cressida had looked back at him once when he had unveiled it – a member of the team who isn't from the Thirteen and therefore, had seen his prowess with a trident – but if she's sorted out who they are, she doesn't say anything out loud.

They clear the twelfth floor and then head down to eleven. The building is so quiet around them it's unsettling. They clear floor after floor. Snow is supposed to be down in the lobby, but from as high up as they are, it's hard to see if anyone is there at all. It's only when they hit the fourth floor that there's finally a noise. 

Above them is the sound of breaking glass. The whole team freezes. Something flits down from the floor above – and lands on the railing next to them. 

_Jabberjay_ , Finnick thinks. His entire body goes numb – and then comes the familiar screaming. Annie, crying for him – but it's not just his name this time, begging, begging for someone to kill her, please end it.

Katniss loads up an arrow, but her hands are shaking. She doesn't have time to fire off the arrow, because an instant later, the door to her right explodes. A massive mutt comes charging out after her. It takes her down, getting a hold of her leg, dragging her across the ground. She screams, the bow clattering from her hands. 

Finnick tears the helmet off and dashes forward. He sinks his trident into the mutt's back, and it lets out a high-pitched howl. Gale grabs Katniss and drags her backward. She's hyperventilating sharply, grabbing for Gale however she can. It's only when Finnick pulls back does he realize that the mutt is blond with blue eyes. 

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Boggs asks sharply, looking between Finnick and where Johanna is now standing behind him. Katniss is still struggling to catch her breath, but Johanna and Finnick merely look at each other.

“Games,” Katniss manages to get out. 

“What?” Gale asks.

“These are our games,” Finnick supplies flatly. 

Inside the room where the first mutt had appeared, they hear another howl.

“Go, go,” Boggs urges them, and Gale hauls Katniss to her feet. They all begin to run, careening toward the stairwell that leads down onto the third floor. Boggs gets the door shut just as the mutt slams against it. The entire frame shakes, but it seems like it's going to hold. They all stand there for a minute, breathing too heavily. The sound of furious scratching comes through the door.

“Games,” Boggs says. “All right. What else then?”

“Trackerjackers,” Katniss says immediately, obviously caught up in the end of her own first set of games.

Finnick swallows hard, forces himself to recall his own first set of games. They had put the river right in the middle of the arena. Fresh water – how rare for the Hunger Games; and it was because things kept coming out of the river. It was dangerous to be too near, but they had to go to get water. There'd been these beautiful fish at first – Finnick had watched one of the tributes try to catch some for food, but the fish were equipped with massive barbs that had pierced through any tribute who had gotten too near. And then there had been the mermaids with teeth in their tails.

“You had a blizzard in yours, right?” Finnick says, looking at Johanna, who nods. She looks pale already, but doesn't elaborate.

“The monkeys,” Finnick recalls, skipping to the Quarter Quell, which had the widest spread of gamemaker-modified horrors. “Fog. Bloo-”

He doesn't finish talking before something starts streaming under the door. Boggs looks down at his feet.

“What is that?” he asks, even though they already know. 

They pound down their stairs as the trickle explodes into an entire river of blood. They've only made it halfway down and are turning at the landing when the current becomes too much. Cressida disappears in front of them first, her feet washed out from underneath her. They all go down one by one. 

Johanna lets out a tight sound of panic and Finnick grabs her around the waist as they both are dunked under. It's nothing like being in the ocean. The smell is pungent, and the liquid is so thick that everything becomes cloying, and Finnick can't tell up from down, but he refuses to let go of Johanna. He holds onto her and keeps the trident in the other hand, letting them be carried down toward the others. They clang off the railing for one moment, and then collide against the wall. Johanna surfaces next to him, gasping. She claws at the wall and then grabs one of her axes, smashing it through the thin wood.

“The door's below,” Finnick says, trying to catch his own breath. The blood continues to gush into the stairway, taking them closer and closer to the ceiling. Others are resurfacing at their right, but Finnick can't tell who. Johanna rears back with the axe again, but Finnick grabs her by the wrist.

“We need to get the door open,” he points out. It gives her something to focus on, even though she's shuddering openly, on the verge of losing it. 

“Jo,” he says, and she finally looks at him. “Breathe.” 

She does, but as soon as he has her focused, something comes cresting toward them on the wave of blood.

“What the hell is that?” Boggs says somewhere to Finnick's side.

“An eel,” Finnick answers automatically, but he already knows that's not strictly true: The eel crackles with light – no, electricity. Johanna groans, and Finnick's arms flare with phantom pain. He's slammed more firmly against the wall for a moment. (Arrow flying, Finnick thrown, and everything is lit up.)

“Let's go!” Johanna says gritted teeth. She inhales sharply and then drags him down. She holds onto him as he swims though. He's blinded in this red mess, and can only head in the general direction of where he thinks the door is. He reaches forward, running his hands down the wall until he finds the handle. He guides Johanna toward it then, trying to get out of the way as she begins to pound into the wood with her axe. 

Pain flares up Finnick's leg, exploding into his nervous system. One of the eels has wrapped its way around him, and his entire body feels as if the lightning is inside of him again, frying his veins. He struggles to get the thing off of him, but his hands are shaking, and he can't get enough oxygen. Everything is becoming hazy – and that's when they're whisked away. The door explodes away, and they're washed into the third floor. Finnick ends up on his back, coughing and gagging. He can hear someone retching not far from him – Katniss. 

“Jo?” he says hoarsely, lifting his head up. 

“Here,” she answers weakly, and he rolls over and sees that's she further down the hall. They all struggle to their feet, barely recognizable at this point. The eels wriggle on the ground near their feet, small bolts of electricity flitting across the blood every now and then. Johanna stomps on one sharply, and it lets out a wet squishing noise.

Boggs does a quick headcount, establishes that they're all still alive. (The cameras are ruined as are the radios in their headsets, but even Cressida is too shell-shocked to lament the loss of her equipment.)

“We need to keep moving,” he declares. 

They edge along the third floor, moving as quickly and as efficiently as they can. (Finnick is having trouble putting weight on one of his legs now, but he tries to hide it.) Nothing happens on the second, which perhaps puts them all more on edge.

Gale puts his hand on the doorknob that leads down to the first floor.

“Ready?” he asks reflexively, even though Finnick doesn't think that any of them are. The door opens – and again nothing. They begin to inch down the stairs. It's the smell that hits them first.

Katniss begins gagging behind Gale and stops walking on the stairs. Finnick doesn't know what's wrong at first, but then the perfume hits him too. He bends in half, but grabs at Johanna with one hand. She remains resiliently upright; she knows what it is, but has been exposed to it less than other victors.

“What is that?” Cressida asks quietly, cautiously.

“Roses,” Johanna answers without emotion. “Snow's perfume.” She grabs Finnick's shoulder and pulls him back into a standing position. “It's just a smell.” She tells him tautly.

They know better though. They edge down the stairs. The lobby sprawls in front of them, but is different from when they had last been here. In front of them, it appears to be a sprawling rose garden now. Every inch is covered in white roses, all of them emitting that familiar, sickeningly sweet smell that they've come to associate with Snow and death. At the right side of the field, the sound of running water is audible; Finnick knows a makeshift river will be there. On the left side, it starts to snow. Johanna takes out another one of her axes.

Finnick is so intent on watching for anything lingering just underneath the surface that he misses the very obvious appearance of a girl in front of them. He runs into Gale's back before he looks forward. 

In front of them is Rue, plucking the spear out of chest, looking dully toward Katniss before sliding toward the ground.

In front of them, Katniss shouts, shakily, pressing her hands over her ears.

“It's not real!” Johanna barks. That has to be true, Finnick thinks. (Mutts, right? Mutts that look like tributes.) 

“Finnick!” screams someone from the river – and there's his district partner, tangled in the net that he had caught her in. His name sounds strange – almost like this is a recording of his games. (It is a mutt, Finnick insists his mind. They're just ghosts. They aren't feeling, aren't really dying.) 

“Finnick!” she shrieks again. “Don't! Please, don't!” A wet tearing noise, and blood sprays across the field of roses, an imaginary trident piercing through his insides, quieting the begging. (She is the kill he regrets most. The only one he still can't go a week without having a nightmare about. He marvels over the boy who killed her without second thought. It was easy. Easy in a way that terrifies him now, even after a second round in the arena.)

A pulpy sound across the room catches their attention, and there's Johanna's first kill stumbling to his knees, hit from behind in the head. That's right. She hadn't killed him with a clean stroke, not yet, and she'd had to hit two, three times to finish it off. Everything plays on, imagined death scenes without them. They can hear the thud of the axe even when there is no axe, and then the boy finally falls forward. Dead.

“We need to keep moving,” Gale says, insistently, because everyone else can't move.

Katniss just shakes her head. In front of him, the boy she shot with after Rue appears, staring down at the arrow-sized hole in his chest before tipping forward. And then Finnick's first kill: the boy from Twelve they had hunted down as a pack, too small and weak to even think of fighting. He hadn't had the trident yet, and this kill is messier, and Finnick still remembers how the boy had barely fought, hadn't tried to do anything.

And then again to Johanna's corner – the hulking boy from Two she had killed in order to claim her crown. 

“Oh, fuck this,” Johanna says as soon he appears. She tromps through the field of roses, brandishes one of her axes and catches the boy across the throat, a cleaner kill than what it had been in reality. She turns to where the rest of them are still standing.

“These _are_ mutts,” she says clearly. “We already killed these people. They're dead. But the man who engineered their deaths is still somewhere in this building, so we can either stand here crying over what we've done or get a fucking move on.”

What she doesn't say is that the only place left in the building is the basement. Finnick knows that's the last place she wants to go. He follows after her, and the rest of the team filters slowly through the field as well, heading toward the final flight of steps. 

Behind them, one of the Careers Finnick had betrayed begins to shout, an unending litany of _why, why, why_.

The sound doesn't leave Finnick's ears even when they're on the stairs. Johanna's hard pace slows as soon as she's on the landing. Suddenly, they're staring down at where they had both been taken, 

“It's all right,” Katniss says and she takes the lead again. Johanna looks at her, and seems like she wants to make some comment, but whatever it is doesn't quite make her to tongue. They fall into the middle of the pack again, both of them tense as Katniss opens the door to the bottom level. It's different than the other floors right off the bat, of course. No tributes ever lived here. The training area that they've all seen is there, and they head through that without anything happening.

(Finnick glances as the knot tying station as they pass. It feels like a thousand years since he and Mags practiced there, fleetingly, and then he teased Katniss, still trying to sort out exactly what it was that made up their girl on fire.)

They pass through the training area, and then they're in the back, the places where they were kept out when they were tributes. This is more familiar to Johanna and Finnick. This is where the games were made, where the gamemakers experimented. Where they were brought to be tortured, kept out of sight of the rest of the city.

And here's where they find Snow, set up in a circle of gamemaking equipment, haloed in electronic blue light. 

He smiles at them as they enter. Finnick glances around, expecting someone else to be here, but as far as he can tell, Snow is by himself. He doesn't look like the president that has all but become a dictator of Panem. He finally looks like he's aged, and there's something more unhinged than usual in his gaze. It bounces between Katniss, Johanna, Finnick over and over, as if he can't decide who to settle on first.

“Miss Everdeen,” Snow greets him, but his voice sounds like a parody of what it was. “Miss Mason. Mr. Odair.” The rest of the crew is ignored. Boggs and Gale edge around the perimeter, guns leveled at Snow, trying to assess if anyone else is with him. Out of the corner of his eye, Finnick sees Cressida fiddling with some of the equipment at the edge of the room. 

“Have you enjoyed the gifts I left for you?” Snow asks, almost maniacally. 

“Are you going to surrender?” Katniss asks flatly. 

“Surrender?” Snow repeats. He smiles more wildly, and the splotches at the corner of his mouth grow bright red. “Surrender to whom? You, Miss Everdeen?”

“Yes,” Katniss answers.

“Well, then,” Snow says. “Let me tell you the truth of what will happen. Maybe not right away, but in the coming years. At first, everyone will think you a hero – the victor. But time will pass, and people will grow unhappy with one thing you did and then another. And then, quietly, but slowly, they'll look at you and the people you surround yourself with.” He points to where Johanna and Finnick stand behind Katniss.

“They'll look at you, my victors,” Snow says. “And remember what it was you sacrificed in order to save your own lives. Love,” he says, looking first at Katniss, and then to Johanna. “Family.” And finally to Finnick. “Dignity. And they'll wonder about what _nature_ of people they've entrusted themselves to. I want you to make no mistake, Miss Everdeen: Whether I am dead or not, you and your fellow _victors_ will always be my finest accomplishment. You are more like my children than my own flesh and blood. You can blame me all you want for what happened in those arenas, but I only molded what was already inside of each of you. They all think you're victims now, but when you can no longer hide behind me, to blame me for each of your sins, they'll see you for what you really are.” 

He goes to say something else, but Katniss notches an arrow and shoots it into his throat, and then grabs another and lets that one fly as well. 

Snow slumps back in his chair, his eyes rolling up toward the ceiling. He takes in one last shuddering breath and then is finally still. Finally silent. 

Finnick is too numbed by everything Snow has just said to feel any joy at the man's death. Logically, he knows that was the point. That was Snow's final, parting blow, a desperate way to be able to haunt them long after he is dead.

Katniss lets the bow fall to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

“Did you get all of that?” Boggs asks, looking back at where Cressida is standing.

“Yes,” Cressida answers, holding up a camera she found in the equipment.

“I want you to delete everything but Katniss firing the arrows,” Boggs orders.

“What?” Cressida asks, surprised.

“No,” Katniss answers and her voice is stronger than Finnick would expect. “We're not starting things off on a lie.” Johanna shifts from one foot to the other and then walks forward, planting her axe in the middle of the computer console that still has flickering images of mutts on it. It spits sparks and then powers down.

“We need to get in touch with President Coin,” one of Bogg's men says. They've been out of contact since the wave of blood.

“No,” Katniss says again, and she seems more and more sure of herself with everything she's saying.

“No?” one of the man asks skeptically.

“We're going to get in touch with all of Panem first,” Katniss says. “We're going to let them know what happened. That Snow is dead, and that our country is finally ours again.”

The two men look at Boggs, waiting to take point from him. Finnick tightens his own grip around the trident in his hand. This is the part where and Jo come in he knows. They'll do what they have to do now, letting Katniss stay relatively free of the mess. Boggs takes in the whole scene with the calm air he always exudes.

“Our orders are to follow Katniss in everything,” Boggs says; it's a lie and Finnick knows it, but the two men under his command don't dare disobey. 

“Cressida, can you have everything up and ready to go within the next half an hour?” Katniss asks. 

“Of course,” Cressida responds. “You might want to get cleaned up though.” They're all still covered in blood, an unpleasant sight for them to be streaming to the nation.

“Boggs, you and your men stay with Cressida and Pollux. I'm going to take Finnick and Johanna back up.” Katniss says. She looks over at Gale, and he nods, not needing to hear his order. He's staying with Boggs and Cressida to make sure they don't try to call Coin beforehand. 

If Boggs is suspicious of their obvious divide, he doesn't show it. He accepts the order he's been given. Katniss heads out of the room and Johanna and Finnick fall immediately in toe.

They don't go far though, just to the stairwell leading back to the first floor. Katniss stops and lets out a heavy breath.

“What do I say in this address besides that we've killed Snow?” she asks, looking between the two of them.

“We need to make promises that it will look bad for Coin to renege on,” Finnick says.

“We need to set up the skeleton of a new government,” Johanna tacks on. 

“And what kind of government is that?” Katniss asks. “All I know is that we don't want Coin as president. So, who do we recommend as president without Coin destroying them immediately?”

Johanna scoffs.

“Why a president at all?”

She says it condescendingly, but it's an idea that suddenly resonates with all three of them.

“You make a promise to the districts,” Finnick says. “Representatives from each of the districts to come here and make decisions on the new government. Everyone should know what's going on with everyone else. We become as unified as possible.”

“Nobody from Snow's government is allowed to carry over,” Katniss says immediately. “Have them send people who actually have _cared_ about what's been happening in the districts.”

“Coin would have to stand against the other eleven districts to break that promise,” Finnick points out.

“She could do that,” Johanna says, tapping the blunt side of her axe against her leg. “She might still try.”

“She might,” Katniss admits. “But I think this is our best shot.”

They head back up to the first floor, although their steps all slow as Katniss opens the door to the lobby. The roses are still there. The bodies of the tributes are still there. But nothing happens when they creep around the corner of the room, heading toward where District One had stayed before the Quarter Quell. Finnick kicks in the door. Everything in the room glistens back at them, but covered in a layer of dust. 

Cashmere and Gloss were probably among the last people to touch anything in here and Finnick feels like they're walking across their graves. He feels a familiar tug of guilt, a reminder that he never even considered saving Cashmere and Gloss, even though the brother and sister had both been kind to him when he'd been brought to the Capitol. Before him, they had easily been the most expensive victors. They had taken care of him plenty of times. 

“Let's stick together,” Katniss says.

“You take the shower,” Finnick says. “We'll clean up in the sink.”

They all pile into the bathroom, which is more than large enough for the three of them. Katniss, ever modest, strips in the shower, obscuring the doors so they can't see through it. Johanna rolls her eyes.

“You better scream plenty loud if anything comes to get you in there,” Johanna warns.

“Sit,” Finnick tells her, but he's smiling. He places his trident near their feet so he can get to it quickly if he needs it. He grabs a clean towel and gets it wet so that he can clean the blood off of Johanna's face. She sits still, unusually obedient. He feels that one of them should say something – that there should be something to be said in this moment. But nothing seems right. They've come too far, had to go through too much, and the path before them is anything but certain. So she's silent as he mops up her face, and then they switch, and he is quiet as well. Her touch is brisk, but she's careful all the same.

“How's your leg?” she asks when she's done. 

“Fine,” he answers. 

She nods, and neither of them ask about their non-physical wounds, which have to ache a thousand times more than the burns on his leg. Those still need to be contained for as long as they're in the Capitol.

By the time their visible skin is clean, Katniss is out of the shower, dressed and braiding her wet hair again.

“Time to go piss off Coin,” Johanna says, cheerfully as she ever gets. 

They head out of the room, back downstairs. Cressida has everything set up for them. She wants to use a fake background, making it look like they're in the presidential mansion, but Katniss shakes that idea off again, falling back on not wanting to lie.

“Do you want me to show you shooting Snow then?” Cressida asks and here, Katniss pauses. 

“We need to prove he's dead,” Gale says in a measured way.

“We shouldn't be using his death for sport,” Katniss says, her mouth a thin line. “It's not entertainment. It's just what was necessary.”

“We'll show his body,” Finnick suggests. “Set him up so he looks … dignified.” The word sticks in his throat and he has to struggle to get it out. Johanna stares at him as if he's gone crazy.

“No,” Johanna says immediately, shaking her head. “We need to show the footage of Katniss shooting him _and_ his body, or else everything is going to think it's a hoax. It's _not_ entertainment. It's the truth of what happens.” She tacks on the last part pointedly, looking at Katniss, who nods and relents. 

“Include the footage of me shooting him,” Katniss allows.

They all shuffle into formation then – Katniss, Gale, Finnick, Johanna. Boggs and his team stay behind Cressida and Pollux.

“All right,” Cressida says, holding up three fingers. “We'll be live to all the districts in three, two, one. Go.”

The red light of the camera stares them down.

“I'm in the Capitol,” Katniss says, succinct as ever. (The girl might have passion, Finnick thinks, but she has no charm.) “And President Snow is dead. I killed him tonight as he tried to attack us one last time.” Cressida holds up a hand, and Katniss pauses, her eyes darting over toward they have laid Snow out. Five seconds pass and then Cressida gestures for Katniss to continue.

“But that's not what I want to talk about,” Katniss says. There's a touch of nerves in her voice, but she keeps herself steady, her chin held high. “We owe it ourselves to do better for this country. And we can only do that if we're unified. Which is why I want every district, including the Capitol and including Thirteen, to select two representatives to represent them. Do not chose men who were part of the old government. Chose the people who care and have kept you safe over the years. Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason will be arriving by train within the next week to ensure safe travel from your district to the Capitol. Until then, we will keep you informed of everything that is happening, no exceptions.”

Johanna glances over at Finnick, and the red light goes off.

“Is that okay?” Katniss asks, looking over her shoulder at the two of them. 

“Of course,” Finnick answers. “Leave it to us.”

“We're getting contact from Thirteen,” Boggs announces.

The four of them stay in place as Cressida pulls up a small screen for them to see Coin, Beetee, and Plutarch on the other end.

“This was not what we agreed upon,” Coin comments immediately. Her anger is there, but she's keeping it contained.

“Can you bring Twelve's and Thirteen's representatives in by hovercraft?” Katniss asks instead. “Because the train doesn't reach there.”

Coin looks at the four of them, stone-faced and silent. For a couple moments, Finnick thinks they might have lost connection, but the red light keeps blinking, indicating that they are broadcasting. Every now and then he can see Plutarch look between Katniss and Snow; for the first time, he isn't say anything. Probably because he doesn't know which of them is the right person to back. 

“What is this council of yours supposed to accomplish?” Coin asks flatly.

“They're not my council,” Katniss answers. “They will be Panem's council. And they will decide how the country will be ruled. I won't be a part of it.”

“You won't be one of Twelve's representatives?” Coin asks, finally showing surprise.

“No,” Katniss answers, shaking her head. She doesn't expand upon that, but Finnick understands all the same. They've paved the way for a new world to be born, but that's the extent of what the three of them can do. They're fighters, tacticians; the world needs something else now. 

Coin still looks angry, but she doesn't fight them any longer. Not at this moment anyway. She's underhanded, Finnick knows; appearances are important to her, and she's the type to try and win over this council instead of plunging the country into another war where she would be painted the villain.

“I'll see you in a week then, Miss Everdeen,” Coin says before the signal goes out.

The entire room is tense before Johanna starts laughing. As soon as she does, Finnick can't help himself, he laughs as well. Gale is staring at them both; it seems as if they're not going to shed the image of themselves as the crazy victors anytime soon. In front of them, Katniss deftly hides a smile.

“Come on,” Johanna says, punching Finnick in the shoulder. “We've got a train to catch.”

It's something easy to focus on in the midst of everything else, and Finnick is appreciative of that. They head out of the basement as Cressida powers down the equipment she's commandeered, taking it with them. 

“Where's the train from here?”

“The station is a straight shot down the main street,” Finnick says. It had been part of why this space had been allocated for the tribute center after all. 

They exit out the front of the tribute center and immediately stop, unprepared for the sight that greets them. The city is still dark, power shut off to large chunks of it, but in front of them is what seems to be the bulk of the population of the Capitol. They're silent even when Katniss appears behind Johanna and Finnick. The atmosphere is confusing, somber with tinges of fear; but there doesn't seem to be anger. The city has never known hardship before. Even now, most of the natives are wearing their bright clothing – more threadbare than what they've known before, wigs askew, makeup inexpertly done with no one to help them. But they still look sights better than even Johanna, Finnick, and Katniss do.

“What are they doing?” Gale asks. He keeps his gun close at hand, but it's Johanna who reaches for it, guiding the muzzle toward the ground.

“They're afraid,” Johanna says almost caustically, “That we're going to do to them what Snow has done to us all these years.”

“They'd deserve it,” Gale says immediately. 

“ _Unified_ ,” Katniss says staunchly, and Finnick has to hand it to her. He knows she hates the Capitol. He hates it, too. He's not about to let Gale fire blindly into this crowd, but he sees plenty of people he knows here, and he doesn't feel exactly prone to forgiveness. He knows, in the coming days, most of them will say _we never knew what was going on in the districts_ or _we were only doing what Snow told us to do_. But Finnick knows the answer is much simpler than that: It was easy to sit here in the lap of luxury, allowed to do almost anything they wanted, without worrying about the grimy children from Twelve who didn't have enough to eat or the fact that the pretty victor from Four wasn't allowed to marry who he wanted. ( _Aren't they all just lucky to be alive?_ would be the argument. As if the right to live is the same as the right to live with an ounce of dignity.)

It's only Snow's taunting warning, that they'll all turn into him that braces Finnick. 

“No one is going to be harmed as long as the city remains peaceful,” Katniss announces; her voice can't reach everyone, but her words are carried through the crowd. She glances toward Finnick for a moment, as if weighing what other words she wants to say.

“Consider who you want to be your new leaders,” she says. “We promise them the same safety we're providing to those from the districts.” 

The crowd is still relatively silent, even in the fact of her announcements. 

“Now what?” Boggs asks from behind, and Katniss takes a deep breath. She starts down into the waiting crowd, step after step down the stairs.

“Katniss--” Boggs says, trying to stop her, but Finnick goes after her immediately. They wade into the crowd together, which parts around them. A path is made for them. Finnick becomes aware that Johanna is at his back. She's walking too close to him, ready to fend off any attack that might come, but none does. Instead, the crowd reaches out to touch them. There's an admiration that Finnick has always known in the Capitol, but it's tinged with something else now: something deferential. 

Katniss' jaw goes tight and it's clear that she doesn't like being touched, but none of them fight it. It's a return to worship that they need to shed the nation of, but it's an improvement on subjugation, enslavement, and violence. Small steps, Finnick thinks as someone brushes a hand over his arm. Toward the back of the crowd, they begin the three-finger funeral salute. Something that nobody here fully understands, but perhaps intended as a sign of respect all the same. 

They are surrounded up until the train station. They pause when they finally arrive. 

“Are you sure you can drive this?” Boggs asks their pilot from the hovercraft. The man nods and clambers inside. 

“Be safe,” Finnick says to Katniss, leaning in to hug her – and then Gale as well, who doesn't seem to expect it, but accepts it all the same.

“Be careful,” Katniss warns him and Johanna in turn. 

Johanna gets on the train first and then Finnick follows. 

Finnick wonders how many time he's been in this train station over the course of his life. Several times back and forth each year since he was fourteen. Erasing the boy from Four and then resurrecting him again. Over and over again. He's died so many times in these streets.

He looks back at the Capitol in front of him. He remembers the first time he came here, when he was fourteen. He was excited, eager to prove himself. To make himself a living legend in Panem, and he had never seen anything as large or glamorous as the Capitol before, a buzzing hive, the living heart of all of Panem. He had been excited to get off the train, to be on the streets for the short time he was allowed before being whisked off to the tribute center, prepped to go into battle. His fourteen-year-old self looks forward at what they've accomplished, a mirror image of what he'd expected, same intentions, but everything else askew. The Capitol brought to its knees and with help by his hand. 

He presses three fingers to his lips and salutes Katniss, bidding goodbye to the life that all of them have known. 

…

They work backward and arrive at District Eleven first. Neither of them are sure what to expect as they watch the landscape blur past them. Finnick hasn't been to Eleven since his own victory tour, now about ten years ago. He expects the same for Johanna.

But when they disembark from the train, Johanna with her belt of axes, Finnick with his trident still on his back, there's a small contingent waiting to meet them. A woman – who looks familiar, although Finnick can't place her yet – smiles warmly at them and steps forward to take their hands.

“You're most welcome in District Eleven,” she says. “Mr. Odair, Miss Mason.”

“Please,” Finnick says easily. “Finnick and Johanna.” 

“I'm Iona,” the woman answers.

“You're--?” Finnick starts to ask. 

“Seeder was my mother,” Iona says softly, lowering her voice just a little. Finnick nods, and Iona squeezes his hand – as if she's comforting him. 

“These will be our representatives,” Iona says easily, turning around to introduce Finnick and Johanna to the man and woman who stand just behind her. Finnick shakes each of their hands in turn. 

Iona takes them briefly around District Eleven, which has suffered openly and obviously. The poverty in the outlying districts has never ceased to shock Finnick, and the war has only compounded that suffering. 

“We've brought what we could from the Capitol on the train,” Finnick tells Iona. “But let us know what else you need.” 

“We've been talking with Katniss,” Iona says, smiling.

“And you haven't had any other trouble?” Finnick asks.

Iona's smile turns a bit wry.

“I think the Peacekeepers were relieved to be allowed to leave,” she says. She takes in the stripped landscape surrounding them – which is already showing signs of being rebuilt. “But we're proud the spark started here.” Her voice is serious as she says it. 

They stay for dinner; Eleven pulls together a jovial meal from the supplies that have been brought on the train. Finnick is in awe of everything around him; these people have had nothing but their hope for a long time, and it's that hope that's sustaining them even now. They're living on nothing but the promise that Katniss has made them. 

“Go with peace,” Iona says when she bids them goodbye at the station.

“We're trying,” Finnick answers with a smile.

The scene is much the same in the outlying districts. They arrive and the representatives already have been selected, usually from those who have been leading the charge in the rebellion, keeping things moving smoothly and making sure people can still survive. In Ten, the entire district is there to meet them and actually cheer when they see their faces. In Eight, they meet Paylor, the young commander who has become famous for the propo Katniss made with the hospital – Finnick and Johanna were both still in the Capitol at that point, but they've seen it and recognize the woman. She comes with them on the train, one of the chosen new leaders.

They pick up the representatives, leave behind the supplies they can. If there are any Peacekeepers left, they're not wearing uniforms anymore.

They slide into District Seven and Johanna stops before she gets off the train. Finnick turns to look at her and then holds out a hand to her. She accepts it without saying anything. 

“They hate me here,” Johanna says as she steps onto the platform, and her voice is raw. 

“They don't,” Finnick tries to reassure her.

“They know what happened to my family,” Johanna answers. “They know what happens when people come home with crowns here. They know what _sort_ of people come home with crowns.”

“We're not that sort of person anymore,” Finnick responds quietly, and she focuses back in on him. Whether she agrees or not, he doesn't know, but they head into the main square of Seven. This is the first district they've come across that hasn't picked their representatives yet, still struggling to sort out who would be best-suited for the task ahead. They're led to the back, but as soon as they arrive, the crowd starts to turn toward them. 

Silence descends. The familiar whistle is called out and the salutes start. Finnick returns the gesture automatically and Johanna does so after a palpable moment of hesitation.

“We're hoping you might say something,” someone to Johanna's left says quietly. Johanna immediately shakes her head. 

“Jo,” Finnick says gently.

“No,” Johanna says stalwart.

So, Finnick steps forward instead. He can feel Johanna's eyes burning a hole in his back, expressing her displeasure that he's daring to do this.

“I've only been to Seven once,” Finnick starts. “I was fifteen, on my victory tour. And when I got here, I think every boy in this district wanted arm wrestle me. And I think everyone of them beat me, too.” There's a dry bit of laughter that spreads thinly thought the crowd.

“I didn't know it at the time, but one of those boys was Johanna's brother,” Finnick has never shared this story even with Johanna, that he remembers her brothers, the rowdy lot that wouldn't leave him alone. He knows it's an off-limits topic, and he knows she's going to be angry with him after this. The tone of the crowd grows more somber again.

“Johanna Mason is one of the only reasons I'm alive today,” Finnick says, gesturing over his shoulder. “It has been an honor being her friend and having her stand by my side for the last few years of my life. I know her strength and her pride,” Here, there's sparse laughter again, as if they're all sharing a joke only they know, “Is an embodiment of this district, and I know that my district and all of Panem is going to be proud to stand with you.”

He knows the whole mess is a bit over-the-top for Seven, but it seems to refocus them all the same, to remind them of what's at stake for who they pick. 

“What happened to the Mason family?” someone shouts near the back, and there's a clamor of echoes, all of them wanting to know another one of Snow's sins. 

Finnick starts to turn toward Johanna, but she steps forward immediately.

“Snow asked me to work in the Capitol, and I told him to go fuck himself,” she bites off. And at this, there's an explosive bit of laughter. Someone near the back starts up a chant, and it takes Finnick a few moments to sort out the words: _Mason gave him hell_. It goes on for minutes and Johanna remains passive in front of them, chin lifted a little. (Her district never wanted a victor. They always wanted a rebel.)

Within half an hour, the representatives are selected. Johanna's chant follows them back to the train.

Five and Six take a little focusing as well, but they are sorted within hours of Johanna and Finnick's arrival. Their little train is becoming quite full now, but the air on board is jovial. Everyone introduces themselves, and they all share stories of what it's like in their districts, what's been happening during the rebellion. 

And then they're in Four.

Finnick can smell the ocean far before they arrive in the train station. It's been weeks since he's been home, but it feels like far longer. The last time he was here, he was a tribute for the Quarter Quell, heading back to the Capitol with Mags at his side, aware he was going to have to kill many people he knew if he wanted to get home to Annie. 

The train rolls to a stop and Finnick has only made it down a single step before two people collide with him – his younger sisters, Coral and Sara. They're both crying, clinging to him, and he can't figure out for the life of him what either of them are saying. It looks like most of the district is here, all come to see him again, returned home to them once more. His older sister, Aerona, stands nearby, next to her husband. 

“Get off him, you two,” she says. “Give him room to breathe.” She sounds remarkably like their mother, who Finnick notices is nowhere in sight.

Finnick manages to make it to the ground and it's only then that Aerona also hugs him – something that's a surprise since she's put distance in between them in the last few years.

“All that time,” Aerona says into his ear, and it sounds suspiciously like she's crying. “All that time and you never told any of us.”

“I couldn't,” Finnick answers immediately. He still has to fight down a familiar wave of shame that his sisters know what's happened to him, what he's done. But he carries Annie's words with him now, reminds himself of who he really is. 

“We saw your wedding,” Aerona says, pulling away, but still holding onto his hand.

“Annie looked beautiful,” Sara says brightly from where she's still at his elbow. 

The mention of his wife tugs at something inside of Finnick's chest. He misses her. With every moment he's away from her, he's missed her. But now, here in Four, that feeling is more pronounced than ever. Coming back to Four has always meant coming back home to her. For the first time in his life, she isn't here for him, isn't waiting for him with her shy smiles. 

“She sends her love,” Finnick says.

There isn't time for more stories, not just now. All of Four starts cheering when Finnick smiles and waves at them.

“They want you to be one of our representatives,” Aerona says, leaning in to him again.

“No,” Finnick answers, shaking his head. “Tell them to go back and elect someone else.” 

Aerona pulls back, looks surprised. 

“Finnick, they've always loved you here,” Aerona answers. “Why wouldn't you want to be a leader for Four?”

“I wouldn't be any good at it,” Finnick says knowingly. “And I just want to come back and _be_ here when it's all done. They can find someone who will make better and smarter decisions than I would.”

“All right,” Aerona says. “I'll let everyone know.”

They're in Four overnight while the district reconvenes. Finnick wanders and Johanna follows him. He goes up to Victors' Village, even though he knows it's a mistake. The houses have all been destroyed here, and he ends up just standing near the front, his eyes looking over where Mags' house had stood – the place where he had always run when he was scared when he was younger. Where he had gone after every nightmare and where he had gone after the announcement of the Quarter Quell. (Scared not for himself, but because there were only two female tributes in Four, and Finnick hadn't been willing to lose either of them.)

He and Johanna head down to the beach then, and Finnick pulls off his gear, leaves the trident in the sand, and heads into the tide. He drops back down next to Johanna when he comes out, feeling better than he has in a long, long time.

“Christ, did you grow gills in there?” Johanna asks. 

“I always just hid them well,” Finnick answers and then leaves over to shake his wet hair on her.

“Fuck off, Odair,” Johanna says, shoving him so that he falls into the sand, laughing. She hides her own smile well. 

Aerona joins them shortly afterward, announcing that the second leader has been chosen. 

Johanna gives them some space when Aerona sits down next to him.

“Mom and Dad?” Finnick asks, because he needs to know even though he doesn't want to.

“Dad when they took Annie. He tried to fight them.” Aerona answers. “Mom … After your video in the Capitol.” 

Finnick nods, lets that barb into his heart. He lets out a deep breath.

“I know this probably won't help but … I know things changed a lot faster here because of what you did,” Aerona says. “I know we're not like One or Two out here, but …”

“We like our victors,” Finnick says, unable to hide some of the callousness in his voice.

“I'm sorry,” Aerona says abruptly. “I never understood, all those years, why Annie put up with everything you did while you were in the Capitol, and I wouldn't let you near my kids and now, I … I'm sorry, Finnick.”

Finnick wraps an arm around her and she leans into him. They haven't been like this since before he came back from his first games. (She had begged Mags to bring him home.)

“Does that mean I'm allowed to see them now?” Finnick asks lightly.

Aerona laughs, but the sound is wet.

“Now, if you want,” she says. “Or when you come home to fish or whatever it is you're going to do.”

“I like the idea of fishing,” Finnick comments, pretend thoughtfully. “Maybe I'll grow a beard. What do you think of that?” he asks, looking at her until he gets her to actually smile. “Me with a beard?”

“Your pretty wife might not like that,” Aerona answers back.

“Ah,” Finnick answers. “How excited I am for us to have fight over something normal then.” 

“She's still in Thirteen?” Aerona asks after a moment.

“Yes,” Finnick says with a sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “If she gets home before I do, tell her I love her.”

“She already knows,” Aerona answers. And Finnick supposes that's true. But he also knows that he will tell her as often as he can, as loudly as he can, for the rest of his life. They have a lot of time to make up for after all.

They leave Four in the morning and slide into Three. Beetee's district is ready to go. Two is also surprisingly easy, even though it had been one of the holdouts during the war. Lyme is there to greet them – and to join them. 

“You're not going to have any trouble from Two,” Lyme promises them. “You've all shown the districts what Snow's real colors were.”

Finally, they're in One. It's quieter than all the other districts and Finnick can't help but feel a little worried. The two representatives are waiting for them and introduce themselves only briefly before joining them on the train. The crowd watches them, but Finnick has trouble reading the emotion here: One has been treated to a rare amount of privilege. Career district, relative wealth. 

They get ready to leave, but abruptly someone shouts his name. Johanna tenses next to him, and Finnick turns, unable to hide his frown. A woman moves through the crowd, her blonde hair swept to the side. Finnick thinks she's older, but it's hard to tell. It's obvious she's had some work done, but the work out here isn't as clean as in the Capitol.

Finnick looks uncertainly at Johanna, and she shakes her head. She doesn't want him to go down to the woman. But he does anyway. The trident is still on his back, where it's been since he started this trip, never once taken it in hand. He doesn't dare to reach for it, even though his fingers are itching, aware that there might be a hidden threat here. (Everywhere they've gone, everyone has been content to ignore who has killed who in the Hunger Games. Between the two of them, Johanna and he have probably killed someone from almost every district. If they're keeping track here: Johanna killed Cashmere and they each killed a Career from One during their own Games.)

“Are you Finnick Odair?” the woman says, but asks it as if she knows already.

He nods. 

And suddenly she's hugging him. He's not certain what's happening, but he wraps one arm around her all the same, glancing back up at Johanna. She is tense still, her hands barely staying away from her axes.

“Thank you,” the woman says. “I'm Cashmere and Gloss' mother.” 

Oh. Finnick has no idea why she's thanking him. He's too surprised to even know what to say for a rare moment in his life, can't even pull out a smile to smooth the whole instant over.

“I knew what they had to do for years,” she says. “And I knew they hated it. And worse, they had to let our district keep making Careers, even when they knew what could happen afterward. So, thank you. For letting everyone know what he was doing to them.”

“They took care of me,” Finnick says, “When I first got to the Capitol.” 

The woman nods, smiling. 

“I hope you and your girl are very happy,” she says, pressing a kiss to his hand before letting him go. 

Finnick glances around the crowd again, still unable to read into how they feel; they love their victors in One, but they hated what Snow turned them into. But they let him pass back up to Johanna, and they let the train head back to the Capitol.

…  
Finnick and Johanna deliver their new government into the hands of Katniss, who is waiting with the representatives from Twelve and Thirteen. It comes as no surprise that Coin has come from Thirteen, but Peeta has come Twelve as well. 

“She's fine,” Peeta says as soon as he sees Finnick, before he can even ask. “She's heading back to Four as soon as she can. She says to meet her there.” 

“Thank you, Peeta,” Finnick says.

“Thank you,” Peeta returns, looking up at where Katniss is waiting for him. 

Their new government isn't perfect. They still congregate too readily into groupings of their own allies – Capitol with the Career districts, outlying districts together. Coin makes a movement to try and have them be able to elect a new president. The motion is overwhelmingly denied. And in the end, they're not willingly sending children to die, and no kid is starving out in Eleven while adults in One and the Capitol spend all of their savings on how to best modify their hair. 

Finnick is kept there another month. Mostly, it's to keep the peace in the Capitol. People trust him here still, and they listen to him when something needs to be sorted out – when explanations need to be made as to why something is being done. Trials start up in the Capitol, and they flush out the rest of those whose crimes were too high to allow them to remain unobserved. For this, Finnick finds himself frequently in front of juries comprised of people from all the districts. 

Officially, he and Katniss aren't part of the new government, but people listen to their explanations. Katniss keeps transparency as the paramount of importance; the only way the districts can stay unified, she always says.

Finnick has request after request for interviews. He turns all of those down. There is nothing glamorous about what he did and he doesn't want to make any of it seem that way.

But finally, he pulls away. 

He needs to go home. He needs to get back to Annie. 

“Come with me,” he says to Johanna. She has lingered in the Capitol, but Finnick isn't sure why. 

“Not now,” she says. “I think I'm going to spend some time in Twelve for awhile. Haymitch is already there and somebody should keep him away from the liquor.” 

They leave on the same train. Johanna brings her axes with her, but they're packed away in the backpack she's wearing. Finnick brings the trident as well, far harder to obscure, but still tucked on his back.

Peeta and Katniss come to see them off. They hold hands as they walk and Finnick grins wryly at the two of them until Katniss flushes with irritation.

“Please know, Katniss,” he says seriously, placing his hands on her shoulders. “That I will gladly do whatever I need to, to be included in your wedding party.”

“And to think I didn't like you when we first met,” Katniss answers dryly.

“Baffles the mind, doesn't it,” Finnick answers coyly before pulling her into a tight hug. 

Their goodbyes are lingering, but unemotional. There's the promise of later visits; Katniss and Peeta intend to return home to help build soon too. Their work in the Capitol is almost done. 

Finnick and Johanna climb onto the train, which is almost full of people moving back and forth between the districts. They're recognized when they walk down the aisle, but people simply greet them by name, and Finnick smiles easily at everyone. They sink down into their seats next to each other.

The trip to Four seems to take forever and, yet, go by quickly as well. 

When he disembarks, Johanna follows him to the platform. He remembers the first time he met her, the scrawny seventeen-year-old who had come out of the arena with a sharp tongue. She'd told him she hated him the first time she met him and scratched his face. He thinks of her during the Quell, the relief he felt at seeing her; in the Capitol, her soft rap against the wall; and in their last fight, swimming with him through the blood to find the door.

Her hair is visible now, soft and dark on the top of her scalp, and she's finally put some weight on in the Capitol. 

“Here we are,” Finnick says, trying to smile at her. 

“Right,” Johanna says, nods at him. For a moment, he think she's going to get back on the train without saying anything, but she steps forward and hugs him.

“If we live through this, I'll lie that I ever did this,” she says into his chest, and he laughs. 

The train blasts its whistle, a warning call for boarding.

“Bye, Jo,” he says softly. “Take careful of yourself, all right?”

“Me?” she says, scoffing. “You're the idiot who can't sort anything out without Cresta by your side.”

“She's an Odair now too,” Finnick reminds her wryly. 

Johanna pulls away and Finnick lets her go.

“Come back so I can teach you how to actually swim sometime,” he calls after her. She turns to flip him off and then disappears into the interior of the train.

He turns – but doesn't make it far at all. Annie flies across the station and wraps herself around him. He picks her up off the ground without thinking. His arms are around her waist, and her legs are around his middle. They cling together, tightly, as if they've been separated for forever, instead of the mere weeks it's been. It's too long, Finnick thinks. Whatever amount of time it is, it has been too long. She leans down into him and they kiss, and Finnick doesn't give a damn that they're in public. He runs his hand up through her hair. 

“You're home,” Annie breathes against his mouth, and she's smiling and crying at the same time. “You're home. You're home.”

“I'm home,” Finnick repeats up at her. He sets her down and they link hands. She tugs him along excitedly, back over toward the village.

“We have a house!” she tells him, practically glowing. 

“We have a house?” Finnick repeats, but he's smiling too. Nothing ever makes him happier than her happiness – and he doesn't think, with the exception of their wedding, that he's ever seen her this happy before. 

She tugs them all the way into the village. (Finnick notices that people are smiling at them, but he's too caught up in her to care or stop.) They get down to an end of a row of houses, and there's a butter yellow house with white trim that she pulls him toward.

“Our house,” she says, opening the front door. 

Inside, his sisters – and assorted cousins and distant family members – all shout in greeting. Annie twirls about, still smiling, to kiss him again. The first half of the night is spent breaking in their new house, but the party eventually moves down to the beach and carries on into the early hours of the morning. 

He and Annie return home, strolling down the street, hand in hand. When they reach the threshold of the house, he scoops her up and Annie lets out a peel of laughter. He carries her upstairs, puts her down in their bed, and makes love to her without the shadow of the Capitol hanging over them.

Afterward, they sleep. But not for long. Old nightmares with new twists bloom in Finnick's mind; he's in the arena, the Quell, but Johanna hits him hard with the axe, a wet, pulpy sound assaulting his ears as the blade takes his throat while electric eels tangle about his legs. He wakes up, expecting to choke on blood. (He can hear Snow say, _You're more like my children than my own flesh and blood_.)

He breathes slowly, and runs his tongue over where the inside of his mouth has scarred. He glances down at his arms, able to see the scars there as well – burns, cuts, faint marks from needles. 

“Finnick?” Annie murmurs sleepily, and then sits up when she realizes what's happened. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, presses a kiss to his temple.

“They're just dreams now,” she whispers into his ear. “It's all over.”

He sinks back into bed with her, nodding. This is all that's left of the scar that Snow left on the land, on each of them: bad memories and frightening dreams.

He turns his head so that he bury his face against Annie's neck. She smells of sea salt and cinnamon and vanilla again, something that had faded the entire time they were in Thirteen.

“I have something else to tell you,” Annie says, still sounding half asleep. 

“Hrm?” he murmurs.

She leans in closer, her lips pressed against the shell of his ear and whispers a secret – not one that either of them will be interested in keeping. 

“What?” Finnick asks, pulling away, his expression betraying his surprise. 

Annie smiles warmly up at him, and reaches for his hand. She kisses the palm, and then each of his fingertips, before sliding it down, underneath her thin nightshirt, so that his hand is resting on the warmth of her belly.

“Welcome home,” she murmurs again. He leans down and kisses her.


End file.
